Voices
by Green87
Summary: "His world drowned in a vortex of venomous colors... And hell broke loose." As John Cena witnesses how the Legend Killer turns into the Viper, he has to ask himself if he can overcome old resentments to stop the Apex Predator from spreading his poison. Who else could prevent the Viper from destroying the WWE... and Randy Orton?
1. Chapter 1

Voices  
A.N.: This is **loosely** based on the **scripted characters** of the WWE, not on any real-life persons or events. English is not my first language, but I do my very best. Have fun! :)

Voices - Chapter 1: Birth

Randy Orton, favored wrestling prodigy and proud ex-mentee of some of the greatest Hall of Famers, didn't stand a chance and he knew it. The moment his opponent had gotten hold of him the world had spun around in a funny twist and now he was facing the hall's roof while resting uncomfortably on the other wrestler's shoulders, his body being held in a vice-like grip. His whole body ached already and his limbs hurt like hell.

It was rather funny, pretty ironic, really. Cody had warned him before the match.  
"You shouldn't have made Batista this angry, Randy" he had said. "If you're not careful, he'll-"  
"Don't worry," he had interrupted, poorly faking arrogance and confidence that he thought was necessary. "Batista will get what he deserves."

Now it seemed like some deity unknown to him thought that Batista deserved a perfect fight and a good, old Death Valley Driver to teach the young upstart on his shoulders some manners. Funny that.

Then the world started to spin once more and he knew that the match would be over for him. Hot, white pain surged through his head as he hit the floor. Hard. For a few sickening seconds his vision turned blurry and the roaring of the crowd surrounding the ring became a hollow humming noise. He barely registered the referee who counted him out but it didn't matter anyway. He had been defeated. His blood was pounding in his veins, worsening his headache.

*You are weak.* someone hissed.  
"'m not," he mumbled, unaware of the fact that no sound escaped his barely moving lips.  
*You are weak,* the voice repeated. *I can make you strong.*  
"Strong."  
*Soon you'll join me,* the hissing voice said. *Soon, Randy. Soon.*  
A numb feeling crawled up inside his limbs and although his eyes remained open, darkness engulfed him.

...

"I tell you, John! Hunter is going to rip Orton apart!"  
Evan and John were waiting backstage for the next matches to take place but the Cenation Leader couldn't share the little wrestler's enthusiasm.  
"I don't know, Evan. Something's off, I can tell."  
"What do you mean?" the smaller one asked puzzled. John stood there with his arms crossed, watching the monitor that gave them a view on the ring.  
"I mean ..."  
Yeah, what did he actually mean? The feud between Tripple H, Batista and Orton had been going on for a while now and he really wasn't sure anymore who had started the whole thing. Men had been injured, bones had been crushed, but more importantly sensitive senses of pride had been hurt and now the damage was done. Hunter had been running rampage in the locker room and the whole backstage area for weeks now but hadn't had the chance to get a hold on Orton so far. John highly doubted that the match tonight would help to settle the whole dispute, in fact, he feared that it would only fuel Hunter's hatred for the younger wrestler. But although Hunter looked ready to tear Orton apart with his bare hands, John didn't share Evan's view on the probable outcome of the match.

Orton had become strange to say the least. In the past few months John had witnessed a change in the younger wrestler that no one else seemed to have noticed. It had started rather gradually and subtle but John guessed that it was only a matter of time before everyone else could see it too. Something had happened to Orton's demeanor. The formerly communicative, broadly smiling, cocky and slightly goofy 3rd generation wrestler had somehow retreated into himself. John had seen it with his own eyes only a few days before when he and Orton had met for a match on Raw. The fight had been long and hard and at some point they had been dancing around each other, waiting for the other to lower his defences. John had looked directly into the eyes of the Legend Killer, those icy-blue orbs that pierced their opponent like shards of glass, a stare that was fixed and concentrated, but within a split second that look had vanished from Orton's eyes completely. His eyes had dropped to the floor, a deep frown on his face, while his lips were moving soundlessly and barely noticeable. It had looked … odd … but John had seized the opportunity, finishing off his seemingly distracted opponent. The interesting thing was that Orton didn't seem to be affected by John's surprising victory at all. He had left the ring with a blank stare and without a warning word to John prophesising a different outcome when they would meet again. It was very unlike Orton to leave things uncommented. And it was even more unlike him to retreat in the middle of a staredown.

"I don't know," John said to Evan. "I just have a bad feeling, that's all. Orton is a strong competitor. You shouldn't underestimate him."  
"He's a bragging jerk. Hunter is going to teach him some manners," Evan said and smirked. "Funny that Orton is still in need of that lesson after your attitude adjustment last week."  
John displayed a half-hearted grin.  
"Yeah, funny."  
He didn't feel like laughing at all.

...

The locker room was almost empty. For reasons of safety, Hunter had been told to use a different room than his opponent and Randy was rather glad for the GM's orders. Now he sat alone on one of the benches, flexing is neck. He could hear the roaring of the audience in the hall, thousands of feet and voices. He wasn't ready for this. He had felt strange in the past few weeks, not like himself at all. Ever since the devastating match with Batista, he often felt dizzy and light-headed and was plagued by burning headaches. The doctors had said that physically he was fine and probably just suffering from a migraine, but Randy knew that something was wrong. He hadn't told them the entire truth. He hadn't told the doctors of the hissing whispers.

When he had awoken on a stretcher backstage after the match with Batista, he instantly remembered the voice that had whispered to him but he had only then realised that no one had actually talked to him in the ring. It was a scary thought but he had tried to push it away. He wanted to believe that these things could happen when you had suffered a severe blow to the head but that these things went away on their own afterwards. And when the voice didn't return in the following days, he had felt relieved and waving it off as a strange, temporary and now ended nuisance, he had started to forget about it.

Oh boy, how wrong he had been.

Two weeks later, in a match against Sheamus, he had been struggling to gain some ground. The Celtic Warrior had been in great form, while he himself had suffered from his first migraine attack since his match with Batista. After a heavy backbreaker by Sheamus, Randy had tried to lift himself up from the ground, but his arms gave up under him again and again.  
"Get up!" the ginger wrestler demanded, obviously already aiming for a finishing move.

*You are weak,*  
Randy's body convulsed when a new, hot stab of pain surged right into his head, a flash of white blinding his vision for a second.  
*If you stop struggling, the pain will cease,* the voice hissed.  
"Go away," Randy whispered.  
*No,* the hissing became louder. *I can make you strong.*  
"Go away," Randy said, louder this time, shocking the referee who had closed in on him.  
*Without me, you lose.*

A roar from the Celtic Warrior was all he had heard before he had been grabbed and crucified, being smashed to the ground just a second later. The impact had run through his entire body, shaking his bones.  
*You will be with me soon, Randy,* the voice had whispered, fading into nothingness. *Soon.*

Still sitting in his locker room, Randy shook his head to erase the dark memories occupying him. It was time to enter the ring. He didn't feel ready at all.

...

The music started and Hunter entered the ring. Although all they could do was watch the match on the monitor, John could see the hatred burning already hot in Hunter's eyes. The crowd cheered as Triple H was showing off with his light show.

Then the intro changed and Randy Orton stepped through the entrance, surrounded by flashing lights from the huge screens all about. John watched with fascination and worry as Orton made his way towards the ring, his eyes opening and closing slowly again and again, his steps hesitant and lacking the Legend Killer's trademark confidence.

"Look, Orton is nervous. I told you, he's probably scared shitless right now," Evan said mockingly.  
"I don't think he's nervous," John replied. "Nervous looks different."  
Evan raised his eyebrows.  
"You sure?"  
No, he wasn't sure, at least not entirely. It had become rather difficult for him to predict what was going on inside Orton's head. He usually prouded himself on the fact that he was able to read is opponents quite well but with his recent change, Randy seemed to elude John's attempts to do so.

"He looks exhausted," John said, noticing that the usually tanned features of the Legend Killer were now pale. As the camera showed a close-up of his face, John was able to see slim red rims surrounding the young wrestler's eyes practically shouting exhaustion. Orton looked drained and his movements were anything but confident. His shoulders, arms and neck revealed a certain tenseness but lacked any sign of a wrestler ready for a match.  
Evan nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Did he skip training?"  
"No, I don't think so. Something else bothers him."  
Evan laughed.  
"Well, I would be pretty bothered too if I were to face a raging Triple H."  
John shook his head.  
"No, that's not it."

Orton stepped into the ring, his eyes now fixing his opponent. Triple H was growling in the back of his throat, a menacing stare aimed at Orton. The Legend Killer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, scrunching up his face.

"He looks like he's in pain or something," Evan said surprised.  
"Yes, looks like it."  
"An injury? Something we can't see?"  
John shook his head again.  
"Unlikely. We were both cleared by the doctors after our last match. No problem there. If he were severely injured, they wouldn't have given him permission to fight."  
John still couldn't understand. If Orton was in pain - and now that he had realised it, he asked himself why he hadn't seen this before - why hadn't he told the doctors?

...

The pounding in his head had worsened when he had entered the arena, a pulsating dull pain behind his eyes and forehead. He could hear Hunter growling from across the ring, a deep threatening sound that was meant to intimidate him. Randy couldn't care less, he had far more severe problems to deal with, like his head that felt ready to combust spontaneously. He just wanted this match to be over so he could leave the arena again, get away the loud noise and the flashlights that he hoped were responsible for the pain. He knew he was wrong, that it wasn't any outside influence giving him pain but something from within him. He shuddered involuntarily.

"You afraid of me, kid?" Hunter mocked without smiling.  
"Why should I?" Randy growled back, his voice betraying his fake confidence.  
"Because," Hunter growled, "I'm going to break every bone in your body. I'm going to skin you alive, Randy, and leave your battered body to the vultures backstage, you know, all these legendary wrestlers you have disrespected, all these men that would like nothing more than to broken and bleeding."  
Randy closed his eyes for a moment in the hope that the darkness would get rid of the ache in his head but it was to no avail. He was so tired of this. This headache had drained strength and concentration from him. He was exhausted and he wanted to go. He knew he wouldn't be able to put up a decent fight. This would be over quickly.  
"Whatever."

Hunter drew his brows together, surprised by the fact that the young upstart had no better comeback in store. He decided, though, that he couldn't care less. The impertinent little bastard was going to pay for his insolence, for his lack of respect for him and his family. He would have his revenge for the humiliation of being spat at, for the kid's audacity to attack his former patron.

"I'm going to tear you apart!"

...

John saw the wild blaze in Hunter's eyes, the violent wish to destroy his former protégé clearly visible. John knew that Triple H had completely forgotten that Hunter himself had played a great part in establishing this fued. Evolution didn't fall apart for no reason and kicking Orton out of the stable in a most distasteful manner had been the beginning of the end. But knowing that Orton wasn't an angel either made the situation far more complicated. His arrogance had cost him a lot and maybe now was the time for him to pay for it.

The bell rang and the fight began immediately: Triple H didn't waste a second and tackled Orton to the ground, rapidly showering the young man's face and chest with heavy blows. It took a while before the referee was able to tell him off for a few seconds so that Orton could stand up again.

"Geez, man! Hunter's going to kill Orton!" Evan commented, clearly shocked by the uncontrolled violence.  
"Let's hope he does not," John answered. "Although I'm not very fond of either of them, it would be a shame to lose two great wrestlers."

That was true. John had had his fair share of fights with Hunter and although they had never been able to establish anything close to friendship, they respected each other very much. Orton, on the other hand, was an entirely different chapter in John's career and one that was not finished yet, as the Cenation Leader presumed. He and Orton had disliked each other from the very first moment on. They had both been rookies back then, still wet behind the ears, but they couldn't have been any more different in character: Where John balanced bravery and consideration and never forgot to have a smile for everyone who deserved or wanted it, Orton had always been reckless and arrogant, too cocksure of himself for John's tastes. And yet, since he always tried to find the good in everyone, John had tried a few times to win the younger one over, always connecting hard with the concrete wall that was Orton's ego. But now, as he watched Tripple H taking Orton apart, John wondered how the confident, proud and contemptuous youth had become his own shadow, this weak imitation of the Legend Killer.

As John watched the match, Orton was trying to lift himself up, swaying with the effort, his head bent low, his hands clutching his aching chest. As soon as he was back on his feet, Triple H attacked again, grabbing Orton by the shoulder and flinging him around like a rag doll. The younger wrestler bounced off the ropes straight into his opponent's fist. In a desperate attempt to stay standing, Orton spread his arms but was ripped forward by Hunter. With an incredibly forceful pull, he smashed Orton into the nearest corner, effectively knocking the air out of the younger one's lungs.

"Why doesn't he do anything?!" Evan yelled. "It's like he doesn't even want to fight!"  
"He can't," John said, not as surprised by the sudden realisation than he probably should have been. "He just can't."  
Although John disliked Orton as much as many other wrestlers, he couldn't help but feel sadness and pity welling up inside him as he saw the young one being practically crushed by his rival. It always pained him to see uneven matches but this time he felt even stronger about it: In the state that he was in, Orton was no match for Hunter. He shouldn't have stepped into that ring at all.

He witnessed how Orton was kicked in the stomach twice before he was able to maneurvre himself out of the danger zone by dropping to his knees and rolling to the side. Triple H panted and snorted, muscles flexing and eyes flashing. Still on his knees, Orton crouched over and held unto his stomach.

Triple H said something and John didn't need to be in the ring to know what the older wrestler was saying. Orton's body suddenly stiffened and he didn't move for a few seconds. Then his hands travelled up his body, held unto his head, rubbed over his face and head.

"What the fuck is Orton doing there?" Evan asked.  
"I don't know, man, but this doesn't look good," John said, a creepy feeling crawling up inside him. He knew something bad was going to happen, he just didn't know how or why.

...

Hunter's movements were too fast for him to react and the impact with the corner had been too powerful for him to regain his senses immediately. The much needed intake of breath was knocked out of him only a split second later, when Hunter's foot connected with his stomach. The pain made him sick but he didn't have time to counter the man's kicks before Hunter attacked a second time. The kick was even harder and he felt the intense pang threatening to overtake what little rational thought he had left. Purely acting on instinct, he felt Hunter's next kick coming and dropped to his knees to avoid another assault. Moving out of the corner into the middle of the ring, he curled up as tightly as he could, holding his middle and panting heavily. The pain in his stomach and chest lessened, but he was unable to stop trembling.

"Man up, kid! When did you become such a wussy?"  
Hunter barked, walking slowly around Randy like a wolf closing in on his prey.  
Randy wanted to stand up but his body was unwilling to even try.  
A new sting of pain rushed through his temples.  
*You are pathetic.*  
"Go away."  
Randy's voice was nothing more than a whisper as he barely moved his lips. The shouting of the crowd cheering for his opponent became a dull noise in the background as the hissing voice in his head grew louder.  
*You need me. I can make you strong,* the voice said.  
"Who are you?"  
The pain in his head intensified. He clasped his head in both hands.  
*You know me,* the voice said. *I am what you need to win. Without me, you are nothing.*  
The voice seemed to close in even more and it felt as if the fizz was directly next to his left ear. Randy turned his head to see but there was nothing but the crowd cheering and booing and whistling.

*I am a part of you. I am the beast. I am the apex predator.*  
Randy turned his head and stared at the floor. He knew he was going insane but the frightening thing really was that he was unable to do anything against it. He closed his eyes against the voice and the pain. Bright yellow eyes and two white fangs flashed in front of him before the predator's bite ignited hot fire inside his brain, poison that spread and infected his mind, setting it ablaze. He tried to fight it, to make it stop, but his mind seemed as powerless as his body.  
*Do not struggle against me. Together we can be great. Surrender and join me.*  
The burning pain in his head became unbearable and he knew that he would black out any moment.  
*Give in to me. Forget what he taught you. He is nothing. I am instinct and I am strong. I can make you strong.*

"Stand up!" Hunter demanded, his voice loud but somehow muffled as if he tried to speak to Randy through a thick piece of cloth. The pain worsened and all he could do was swaying his head from one side to the other while massaging his head in a desperate attempt to prevent his skull from bursting from the inside out. He felt helpless and close to a breakdown.  
*Surrender.*  
"Come on, stand up!"  
*Surrender,* the voice repeated.  
Drums in his head, pounding.  
"Stop it, please," he begged. Hunter laughed.  
"You wish! Come on, little boy!"  
*Surrender!*  
Loud pounding, feral poison driving him mad. Sharp fangs piercing his mind.  
"Pathetic coward!"  
*Ssssssurrender.*  
"No, I can't-"  
"Stand, man!"  
One last hiss echoed in his mind, white pain exploding in his head …  
… and he let go.

His world drowned in a vortex of venomous colors, the poison spreading explosively in his head and entire body, setting his limbs on fire for less than a second and leaving a pleasant tingle in his fingertips. He believed to feel the dry yet smooth skin of a snake on his back and shoulders as the sinuous entity of the apex predator embraced his mind, his body and his soul.

The pain vanished almost immediately. Randy stopped trembling and opened his eyes, his vision clearer than before and razor-sharp. Rancor and spite welled up inside him, a cold storm of rage he had never felt before. It frightened him but the voice tried to soothe his fears.  
*Do not be afraid. This is us now. We are strong. You are with me now.*  
"With you?" Randy asked, his voice louder than before.

Hunter drew his brows together in confusion as he heard his opponent speak.  
"What is with me?" he asked but didn't get an answer.

*Yes, with me. We are the beast. We are the apex predator. I am you and you are me.*  
"I … am-"  
Hunter took a step closer, his frown deepening.  
"Speak up, kid!" he demanded. "If you've got somethin' to say, then speak up and look at me, coward!"  
It only took a second for him to regret these words.

Randy lifted his gaze to look into Hunter's eyes and what the older men saw made his blood freeze.  
*Say it.*  
Randy hissed.  
"Viper."

And hell broke loose.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N.: Thanks for the wonderful reviews. I am open for comments, suggestions and of course pats on the back. :) This is shorter but I wanted to update A.S.A.P, as I was requested. I always wanted to find words for what I usually only see on screen and I hope I got it right.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did while writing! Updates with plot progress will be up soon. :)

Voices - Chapter 2: Poison

The camera caught a flash of bright silver and the next thing John saw on the screen in front of him was how Orton grabbed hold of his opponent's arm, pulling with so much strength that it looked like he was going to tear Hunter's arm off. Triple H rebound on the ropes, flew across the ring with an expression of utter shock and ran directly into the clothesline of Orton, who had used the pull's momentum to get back on his feet.

"Holy shit!" Evan yelled in disbelief, as Orton repeated the motion twice as Triple H was unwilling to stay on the mat. As fast as lightning, Orton took hold of Hunter again and crushed him down in a devastating scoop slam.

Back turned towards his unmoving opponent, hands tightly curled into fists and his whole body tense like a bowstring, Orton thrashed his head to the left and the right, his face strangely contorted in an expression of menacing wildness.  
John looked on, unable to even blink, as this feral creature that looked like Randy Orton twisted in a most elegant motion and let itself fall to its knees, arms and hands drumming relentlessly unto the mat, fists bracing against the floor, sinews moving under glistening skin.

"What on earth is this?!" Evan shouted, as a close-up revealed the glistening eyes of the young wrestler, the alluring blue changed into shards of piercing glass aimed at the weakened Hunter.  
The larger wrestler tried to get back on his feet but swayed with the effort. Orton stood up, his shoulders bent forward, muscles flexing, fingers twitching.

"R.K.O.," John stated, eyes glued to the screen.  
"What? So soon? He hasn't done this move in over a year!" Evan said, looking at Cena in surprise, then back to the screen and back at his friend again.  
John nodded. He knew the signs. "It's time."  
He saw Triple H staggering back to his feet, apparently disoriented and unable to predict Orton's next move, who smoothly closed in on his target.

With utter fascination, John saw how Orton jumped off the ground with ease and turned around in one swift, graceful motion, his body a long, elegant bow in the air. Grabbing the unsuspecting Hunter around the neck, Orton took his victim to the ground, smashing Hunter's face into his shoulder bone as they landed on the mat. Slithering across the floor, Orton turned his limb opponent over and took hold of his knee.

"The match is over," John predicted even before the referee had started to count. In 1-2-3 the bell rang.  
"This is impossible!" Evan said. "That freak was done! Hunter had him! I can't believe this!"  
"Yeah, me too," John admitted. He watched as Orton sat up, his eyes closed, back bent, flexing his neck. He had never seen the young wrestler strike like this. His whole body language had changed and suddenly John had the feeling that he didn't know the man out there at all.

In the background he saw Hunter moving slightly, blinking rapidly to regain his vision. With a very slow and very strange looking movement, Orton turned his head and observed the groaning mess that was Triple H. The look on his face did not bode well for the older man.  
"What are you up to now, Orton?" John asked out loud and closed in on the monitor as Orton stood up. John tried to get a better look of the youth's face, as the 3rd generation wrestler towered over his defeated opponent. The Cenation Leader saw that the eyes that seemed to fix Hunter, were actually not looking at the man at all. John realised that Orton had retreated into himself once more, a questionmark almost visible on his forehead. Then - for no apparent reason - he nodded barely noticeable and his eyes cleared.

Jumping into the air once more, arms spread like wings, Orton dropped his knee on Hunter's face. Blood spewed forward from a broken nose and left thick drops of red on the white ring floor. Shocked, both John and Evan witnessed as the referee tried to tell Orton off but the youth seemed to be finished anyway. With a cold stare and a sinister smile gracing his features, Orton slowly left the arena.

...


	3. Chapter 3

A.N.: Thanks again for your wonderful, encouraging comments. There is no better motivator than feedback; it really keeps me at the keyboard at the moment. ... I haven't made my mind up yet about whether to let this lead itself into a slashy direction or not. I planned it without Slash and I'm sure it would work perfectly fine without it, but I have to agree with some fans that this pairing ships itself accidentally on purpose quite effortlessly. I would have fun writing either version. Opinions?

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

...

Voices - Chapter 3: Dormancy

Randy had left the backstage area in great haste, just seconds after pulling over some shirt and trousers. He wasn't able to recollect how he had managed to get to the hotel. All he remembered were images of the fight flashing in his head and how the hissing voice telling him to surrender seemed to ring in his ear in an infinite loop. Now, as he was walking fast through the hotel lobby, Randy tried to get a grip on what had just happened, the wicked smile that had felt so alien on his face already gone.

He had R.K. his former mentor, had won and gained his first victory in months. It should have been okay. He should have just walked away. But he hadn't done that.  
*It was necessary.*  
No, delivering a knee drop to an already almost unconscious Hunter had not been necessary. Randy felt a wild mixture of guilt, pleasure, fear, spite, malicious glee and confusion welling up inside him. The terrifying thing, though, was not the onslaught of different emotions but the fact that he was unable to identify which of these feelings were genuinely his.  
*It is of no importance,* the Apex Predator hissed in his head. *These are mine and these are yours. We share. We are together now.*  
Randy wanted to protest, wanted to tell that thing in his mind to go away, but he felt unable to do so, the words not dying on his tongue but already in his head, like weakly gleaming ashes that were swallowed by the lurking darkness.

He barged into his hotel room, smashing the door shut behind him. The last thing he wanted was company, at least not more than he already had. Walking up and down in front of the bed over and over again, he tried to fathom the consequences of this match. Would the feud between him and Hunter be over? Would the devastating outcome of the match have any repercussions? Did his victory mean anything? Would he be suspended? Would he be promoted? Who had really hurt Hunter? Was it him? Was it this thing inside him? Was he still himself? Could he be trusted? Could he still trust himself?

He sat down on his bed, cradling his head in his hands, desperately trying to understand but unable to give order to the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings he experienced. It didn't feel like he was faced with utter chaos. It felt like he was chaos himself.  
"I'm going mad," he whispered to no one but himself.  
*You are not mad,* the unwelcome hiss of the snake answered his doubts. *You are as sane as you ever were. You are free now. We are free now.*  
"Then why do I feel this dreadful?" Randy asked, his hands moving over his head frantically.  
The voice, though calm and soothing, never lost that slight tint of not quite hidden sinister force as it answered: *You are not used to this yet. But we will grow together. I will show you how to be strong. Together we will be great. Together we will be feared.*

"I don't want to be feared," he lied as if acting on reflex. He knew that it sounded ridiculous. Almost every wrestler wanted to be feared by his opponents, it just made winning so much easier. Only few refused to use this psychological advantage against their rivals and even fewer of those were successful. Psychological warfare belonged to the matches just as much as a punch to the face and everyone knew it. So did the Apex Predator.  
*Do not lie to me,* it said. *I know when you do. I would never do that to you.*  
"I don't trust you," Randy said or at least he thought he had. He didn't register that he didn't even move his lips anymore.  
*You should. I am the only one you can truly trust.*  
"How can I possibly trust you? You did this thing to Hunter. We had won already! You shouldn't have done that knee drop! You shouldn't have made me do that!"  
He remembered how the voice had whispered to him, telling him that he needed to finish what he had started, had told him to finish Hunter off. And he remembered glaring red stains on the white ring floor. Everything else was flashlights and whispers.

*We did this together!* the Predator hissed, startling Randy with a voice that seemed suddenly much louder and much closer. A new flash of anger that did not belong to him coursed through his body.  
*You need me!* the voice continued. *I am what you need to be strong. You are nothing without me.*  
Randy laughed heartlessly.  
"You are nothing more than a damaged part of my brain. An untreated concussion or an illusion created by my migraine. You will cease to exist the moment I get my hands on some proper medication," Randy answered stubbornly. The following hiss almost sounded like laughter.  
*I am as real as you. And I have always been here with you. I was biding my time. I knew you would need me some day.*  
"I don't need you," Randy insisted but his voice sounded weak and desperate. "This is so wrong."  
*It is alright,* the Predator said, calmer this time. *It had to be done. You needed me and now we are together. Finally. I promise, I will make you strong. I will help you win. Just stop denying me. You will have everything you desire.*

A shaky breath escaped Randy's lips, exhaustion finally taking over as the adrenaline slowly faded from his system.  
*We need to rest now,* the Predator said, mentally inviting the young one to its den.  
Randy nodded weakly, too tired and too emotionally drained to keep on debating. The events of the past few weeks and the demands and the stress he carried with him were finally taking their toll on him.  
*Everything is going to be just fine. I am with you now, Randy. Nothing can harm us now. You can rest,* the Predator hissed, its voice soft, lulling him to sleep. Randy let himself fall backwards unto the covers and curled up, not bothering to change or shower. His eyes were heavy and the soft covers felt wonderfully inviting. The last thing he felt before he fell into his first blissful night of sleep since his match with Batista were faint hisses in his ear and a strong presence, a feeling as if a long and heavy body draped itself over his own, embracing his frame, curling around him in a most protective manner.

...

In the backstage area, John and Evan were trying to find out where Triple H had been brought. For some reason unknown to even himself, John felt the burning urge to talk to the older wrestler himself. He wanted to know what had transpired in these last minutes in the ring between Triple H and Randy Orton. He wanted - needed - to know if Hunter, by any chance, had seen the same thing he had seen. He had no idea what he would do with the information but he decided that he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

They found the injured wrestler lying on a stretcher in one of the locker rooms, surrounded by Ric Flair, Hunter's wife and a medical team. The man looked awful. Although John had known from what he had seen on the monitor that the injuries were no light ones, he was still surprised about the the damage the knee drop had done to Hunter's face. His nose was squashed completely and pointed to the right in a very unnatural angle. Every breath coming out of his nose sounded like a bizarr whistle and although someone had taken care of the blood on his face, the bruises made it look like a piece of art created by a sculptor on acid.

"What do you want?" Stephanie said in a shrill voice when she spotted the two young wrestlers standing in the doorframe.  
"Calm down, Steph," John said, hands raised in a calming gesture. "We're not here to make trouble. We've seen the match. Can I just talk to Hunter for a moment? It won't take long, I promise."  
Stephanie eyed him with distrust.  
"No. He's not in the condition to deal with your chit-chat. I want you to go. Now."

Very suddenly, Hunter liften his arm, taking the hand of his wife. The eyes that had been closed a moment ago, were now narrowly opened.  
"'s 'kay," Hunter mumbled through laboured breaths, barely able to speak properly.  
Stephanie shook her head: "Darling, you should rest."  
"La'er. Le' 'em in. I'll be 'kay."  
Stephanie sighed unhappy but nodded into John's general direction.

Showing respect, he came closer slowly, kneeling beside the stretcher.  
"Hey, Hunter. How are you holding up?"  
"'m fine. 'V had worse. My honor worries me more th'n my nose."  
Although John didn't consider Hunter a friend, not even a close aquaintance, he patted him lightly on the shoulder in a reassuring gesture.  
"Your honor remains unblemished," he said. "I'm sure, however, that this can't be said for Orton."

A flash of terror came to Hunter's face, an expression John had never seen before on the older wrestler's face.  
"'is eyes. 'Ve you seen 'is eyes?" he pressed out, a new bubble of blood spewing forth from his nose.  
"I'm not sure what I saw," John said carefully. "What did you see?" he asked.  
The broad-shouldered man on the stretcher shivered and took in a shaky breath, his eyes wide as he remembered.  
"'Twas not the blows tha' made me fail, John. 'Twas his eyes. Tha' kid just-"  
"Just what?" John prompted as Hunter seemed to be unable to find words to express what he had witnessed.  
"'E's always been good. Talented!" Hunter said and coughed. "Bu' he's a kid. He was a kid. All blue eyes and broad smile."  
John drew his brows together.  
"What do you mean by 'he was'?"  
Hunter tried to sit up a bit, leaning heavily on his left elbow as a came so close to John's face that the Cenation Leader was able to smell the coppery tang of drying blood.  
"You must believe me, John. When I got in'o the ring, there was Randy, our Evolution puppy. Bu' then somethin' happn'd. When he looked up a' me, when he was kneelin' there-" Hunter said and paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment.  
"Wha'ever looked a' me a' tha' moment, was not the kid I trained."

John needed a moment to take that in. Something rather disturbing and very terrifying was going on with Randy Orton, that much was clear. And although John felt relieved that he hadn't just imagined the change, he also felt that Hunter's account of the events left him …concerned.  
"Viper."  
"Come again?"  
"Tha' was the las' word he said," Hunter explained, as he lay back on the stretcher. "Viper."

...

"That doesn't sound good, man," Evan commented when they left the locker room.  
"No, it doesn't," John said sternly. After their talk with Hunter, Ric Flair had pulled John to the side.  
"If you want to pay Orton a little visit to …talk …some sense into him, that's fine by me. But make sure to leave him in one piece. I'm sure as soon as Hunter's well again, he'll wish to put that kid in his proper place himself."  
"We'll see," John had answered non-committally.

Now, as he and Evan were walking through the long hallways of the backstage area, he was already trying to put the puzzle together in his head but the different pieces came in the oddest shapes and he couldn't make them fit. What the hell was going on in Orton's mind? It was not the rule-breaking or the violence that went beyond what was considered fair; they had to witness these things far too often. No, the unfairness wasn't the problem. The thing that made John feel so uneasy was the fact that a wrestler, one of their kind, had changed from a vibrant, bigmouthed talent with a streak of bad luck into a unpredictable, violent piece of dry ice. Something was off and John wanted to know what it was.

"Where are we going?" Evan asked, as they were heading through the long corridors of the arena.  
"Car," John answered.  
"To go where?"  
"Visiting Orton."  
"Are you kidding?" Evan asked, obviously shocked. "That guy just turned Hunter's face into beetroot mush. Do you really think it's such a good idea to piss him off with a visit just now? What do you want from him anyway? You're not going to do what Flair told you, are you? We're not his personal goon squad, you know."  
"No, we're not and no, I am not going to beat the crap out of Orton, at least not outside a ring, if that's what you're worried about."  
Evan sighed.  
"I hear a 'But' coming my way."  
"But-" John continued, "I want to know what's going on here. Orton's a fellow wrestler, too, and although we usually don't get along very well-"  
"Nobody get's along with him at all!" Evan practically shouted. John smiled briefly at the interruption.  
"Yes, true, but as I said: although we don't get along very well, I just can't see people wasting themselves or utterly destroying others. Something's wrong with Orton and I want to know what."  
Evan shook his head in resignation.  
"Good Guy Cena, always on his way to save some damsel in distress."  
John laughed.  
"If Orton hears that you just called him a damsel, he's going to skin you alive."  
"I dare him to try," Evan said, a mocking grin on his face.

When they got to John's car, the Cenation Leader quickly unlocked the doors.  
"Do you want to come with me?" he asked.  
Evan just shook his head.  
"No way, man. You go on and do your thing, Sherlock. I'll just wait till you call me out for some real action," Evan answered making crunching noises with his fists.  
"I thought you don't belong to Flair's goon squad," John joked.  
"True. But I'd never let my friends down," Evan said, his expression serious again. "Give me a call if the going gets tough, okay?"  
John nodded.  
"Sure. Don't worry. It's Orton. I've managed to deal with him before."  
That said, John sat on his driver's seat and turned on the engines.  
He just hoped that he wasn't underestimating the situation. If Hunter was right, then this was not the Randy Orton that he knew.  
With a mixture of curiosity and a feeling of presentiment coiling in his chest, he drove off into the night.

...


	4. Chapter 4

A.N.: Wow, thank you for all the reviews! Keep that up and I'll have enough fuel for new chapters. ;)

As for the Slash: Since almost all of you let me know that either slash or gen would be fine with you, I'll just see where this story takes us. I'm in for some guy-love (in a touchy-feely friendship sort of way) either way, so I hope that will satisfy everyone in the end even if it turns out that no actual slashy action is going to happen. But who knows... ;)

As far as this chapter is concerned (SPOILER): I had loads of fun writing it. I think the Orton/Rhodes/DiBiase combination has potential for a rather high cuteness factor... AND Orton needs some friends. Desperately. I can't let him run around all on his own all the time. Such a lonely boy...

So... here we go. Hope you enjoy! :)

Voices - Chapter 4: Nocturnal

Randy woke up abruptly, startled by something. He had slept on his belly, something he almost never did, and lifted himself up on his hands, turning slightly to look at the clock on his nightstand. The digital display glared red numbers at him; 00.12h. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he sat up, trying to find out what had just woken him.

His question was answered immediately when he heard a hesitant knock on his hotel room door. Who on earth could want something from him at this time of night?  
*Be careful.*  
Randy groaned silently. He had almost forgotten about this uninvited guest of his that occupied his head.  
"And why do you want me to be careful?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you afraid of Hunter sending over his bloodhounds?"  
For a brief moment he thought of Batista and decided that, indeed, the idea of the Animal being here with him in his hotel room wasn't that appealing.  
*You need to be careful,* the Predator repeated. *They cannot be trusted. None of them.*  
And for the first time, Randy had to agree. The way he had been kicked out of Evolution had left invisible scars that attested to the fact that even the ones he let get close to him couldn't be trusted. He had learned that the hard way.

Another knock came from the door. He considered just staying silent to see if the visitor would leave.  
"Randy? Ran, are you there? It's us, Cody and Ted."  
Randy released the breath he had been holding. Cody and Ted meant no threat. Although he would never admit it to anyone, he was actually quite fond of the two young wrestlers and enjoyed their company despite the fact that he felt like an annoyed nursery school teacher at times. As a reflex he often said that they were wasting his time, that he didn't even know why he let them keep him company, but all that seemed necessary to keep some distance between him and them. It was like he had lost the knowledge of how to be close to people over the last years. And yet, these two got to him, made him feel like a big brother sometimes and although that bit of him that wanted to be a tough guy rebelled against any of these sentiments, he actually liked having them around. Theirs was the only company he could stand.

At that moment, however, he wasn't so sure if it really was such a good idea to let them in. He wasn't sure about how much he was in control of himself and he didn't know how the Predator would react to the other Legacy members. Randy felt that this voice within him had some paranoid character traits and he didn't really want to see whether its distrust also applied to the only two wrestlers in the WWE whose existence he actually found bearable.

"Randy, please open up. We're a bit worried about you."  
Oh, brilliant. Now they were giving him the guilt-trip shit. Randy knew that Cody and Ted didn't actually think that it worked but it did - always - although he was usually able not to let it show. This time, however, he felt silly not to give in. Which adult man hid himself in a hotel room pretending to not exist while two worried frie- …collegues were standing outside?  
"Stop waking the whole floor and just come in, it's open."  
The door opened and Cody popped his head in. His expression was a mixture of apprehension and caution and Randy knew that he couldn't hold that against him.

"Hey, Ran," Ted said, when he and Cody finally came in and closed the door behind them. "How are you feeling? We saw the match but weren't able to find you afterwards."  
"Yeah," Cody confirmed. "We really started to worry when we couldn't find you backstage. Some of the security guys said they saw you leaving in a bit of a rush."  
Randy felt an odd sentiment nudging the pit of his stomach. Usually people didn't worry about his well-being, he had made sure of that over the last few years with his arrogance and attitude. Yet ever since the day they helped him knocking out Snuka and Manu, and despite their rough start and their quarrels, these two actually cared, admiring him, looking to him, trying to appease him when he was angry and helping him calm down when he was wound up. They cared. They were looking out for each other and for him, something that he didn't even experience in the Evolution stable, and it was still strange for him every time it happened.

*Pathetic little worms,* the voice hissed.  
"Shut up," Randy mentally scolded, "They are okay, they help."  
*Dogsbodies, then,* the voice hissed disapprovingly. *Sentiments will make you weak. The Viper is not weak.*  
For a moment there was utter silence in Randy's mind, as he lightly shook his head, his jaw tight.  
"Ran, you alright?" Cody asked again, sitting on the other end of the bed.

"I'm fine," Randy said, his voice stern as not to betray anything that was going on inside him. "I didn't want to stay after the match. I had no desire to run into Flair's thugs backstage."  
Ted laughed.  
"He has enough reasons to send them, man! The things you did to Hunter in the ring were fucking brilliant!"  
Cody nodded emphatically.  
"Yeah, Ran! How did you do that? We thought you would lose that match, it looked like you didn't even stand a chance! And then you just became-"  
Cody made a weird gesture with his hands.  
"-explosive! I mean, how you put Hunter down with that scoop slam and the R.K.O., that was awesome!"  
Randy's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  
"Yes, I think I made strong statement today."  
*It was necessary.*  
"You sure as hell did," Ted confirmed. "They already say that- How did Lawler put it?"  
"'Legends of the ring, beware! The Legend Killer has returned!'" Cody quoted in mock solemnity.  
"Yeah, that's what he said. You surprised a lot of people tonight. Although everyone seems quite shocked because of what you did to Hunter's face," Ted went on. "But no one should be allowed hold that against you. The way Hunter treated you… I would have done the same."  
"As I said, I needed to make a point. This is a warning to Hunter not to mess with me again," Randy answered, surpressing every feeling of guilt that tried to crawl up inside him.  
*This is a warning to everyone. We needed to show them that we are the Viper. It was necessary.*  
"I know," Randy said annoyed. He just wanted the Predator to stop repeating itself.

"What do you know?" Cody asked, looking at him.  
Randy cursed inwardly. He had to watch his own mouth better if he didn't want anyone to know that he had become a complete nutcase.  
"I know-" he started, trying to find a meaningful closure to the sentence. "I know that … my actions tonight may have seemed … harsh and rash. But-"  
*We accomplished something great. We won. Is that not what you desired? Did I not let you feel pleasure? Did you not feel strong?*  
Randy breathed in slowly, his jaw tense.  
"But frankly I don't care. It was-"  
*Necessary.*  
"Necessary."

An odd sense of relief washed through him, as he gave in to the Predator's will, taking the pressure, the responsibility of having to withstand from his shoulders. It was rather easy to give in to the voice's biddings, frightfully so.  
*I told you, we would be great together.*

"Rash?" Cody asked. "Ran, you were fierce, like a beast!"  
Randy was silent for a second before answering very deliberately: "A beast? Yes, maybe. Maybe the time of the Legend Killer is over."  
Ted and Cody raised their eyebrows in a questioning expression.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I mean-" Randy went on, "that maybe it is time for something new. Maybe it is time to …evolve."  
It was rather scary, really. He was starting to creep himself out with his own words. Were these words his own at all?  
*They are ours. They are the Viper's.*

"Do you have something specific in mind? A change of image? New entrance song? A new nickname perhaps?" Cody asked. Although Cody was not shallow at all when one took the time to get to know him better, he still enjoyed talking about the look of things, presentation, the show. And although Randy was more interested in simply winning matches and titles, he could see that sometimes a bit of fine presentation was useful. There was almost no better way to intimidate an opponent than a confident entrance.  
*We need to show them who we are.*  
"Something along those lines, yes," Randy answered.  
"Oh, come on, Ran! You have something planned, don't you? Don't keep us on tenterhooks, man! Tell us!" Ted said very interested and rather enthusiastic. Randy smiled.  
"You'll see soon enough," he said simply and stood up. "Right now I think it's time to get some sleep."  
"But we're not tired!" Ted protested. "We haven't talked about the match at all!"  
"We've talked enough," Randy said looking at the disappointed faces of his team mates. "And don't say things like that. You sound like a little child."  
"But-"  
"No buts. I want you to go to bed. Come on. You are no use to me as team mates when you're tired and groggy. Off you go."  
"Yes, daddy." Ted and Cody said in unison and burst into a fit of laughter. Even Randy couldn't stop the genuine smile appearing on his lips. It felt rather good.  
"Night, Ran. See you tomorrow."  
"Yeah, see you tomorrow."  
With that he closed the door behind him and was alone again. Almost.

*Do not get too attached. They will leave you some day. I am the only one you can trust.*  
He felt his chest tighten uncomfortably at the thought but pushed it away as far as possible.  
He took a deep breath to calm himself and decided that a shower was in order. Maybe it would even help him to clear his head. Taking off his shirt and trousers, he went into the bath.

The hot water felt incredibly good on his tense body, slowly relaxing his shoulders and back.  
*You deserve to feel good,* the Predator hissed.  
"I know," he answered plainly. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt really good. He couldn't even remember the last time he had felt okay. How incredibly messed up he was.  
*You deserve the success.*  
"I know."  
The success that almost nobody wanted to grant him. Not Hunter, not Ric, not Batista or any of the other ones he had tried to show how much he could do, how brilliant he was, how talented, how good. He had tried to be good. He really had.  
*You deserve the respect.*  
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. The respect and honor that came with victories. All the respect that he had been denied…  
*Then why didn't you claim your rights before?*  
Randy started to tremble slightly.  
"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

The feeling of the Predator's body was on his shoulders and his back again, enfolding his form, gliding over his skin, crawling underneath. It was a heavy feeling but oddly comforting.  
*Do not despair,* it said, its hissing whispers close as if it sat right next to his ear. *We are together now. You will gain success. You will gain respect. They will know the Viper. They will fear us.*  
"I don't know if I can do that," Randy said, giving voice to his doubts.  
*You are not alone. You are with me now. Do not be afraid. I will not let anyone harm you. We will be strong. Together.*  
The body wound itself around him. He felt shielded, protected.  
"Together," he said, his own hiss echoing from the tiles.

He almost overheard the loud knock on his room door. Almost but not quite.


	5. Chapter 5

A.N.: Afte receiving a PN by one of you, I want to briefly explain a few thing: This story is most likely set somewhere between 2008 and 2010, between the existence of Legacy and the the first appearance of the Nexus. However, I do not follow the Universe's timeline. Some things will be mashed up (and already are... in this story Orton seems to develop his "condition" somewhat later than in the WWE-plotline; some other things are reversed in order etc. ... you will have noticed... if not, well, lucky me! ;) ) and I intend to meddle with some characters and plotlines. This doesn't turn this story into a full AU, but you get the idea...

Concerning this chapter: It turned out quite slashy without me doing much... We'll see how this goes on. I know as much as you do. ;)

I hope you enjoy the chapter. Comments are always welcome!

Voices - Chapter 5: Fangs

The drive to the hotel didn't take long, but when John reached the parking lot outside the well-lit and shimmering building, he took a few minutes to collect himself. Despite his mental and physical strength and despite the fact that he had had numerous encounters with Orton inside the ring and backstage, this was something entirely new. First of all, he had never visited Orton wherever he was staying during their RAW-Tours. Most of the other professionals met up from time to time, in some cases even quite frequently, to have a beer and a chat or to have a boys' night out. Randy Orton, however, at least as far as John knew, kept mostly to himself. Although DiBiase and Rhodes often tagged along, most of the time Orton seemed to be alone and he had never given the impression that he had any need to change that.

Secondly, and this concerned John even more, was the fact that he had no idea what he would have to face when going up there, meeting the Legend Killer. Inside the ring, Orton had always been good, though burdened with a streak of bad luck that for some reason had ended this very night. But now Orton had turned into a viscious and destructive force and John wondered if this meant something for their upcoming encounter. John really had to get the lowdown on what 'Viper' actually meant.

"Don't try to chicken out of this by procrastinating," John told himself. "Get your ass up and in there."

Stepping into the magnificent entrance hall of the hotel, he went over to the reception. A red-headed woman with impressive locks stood behind it. She looked busy but desinterested.  
He cleared his throat.  
"Excuse me," John said.  
"One moment, please," she answered bored without looking up at him. He waited patiently while she very slowly put away some files and finally turned towards him.  
"What can I do for y- OH MY GOD!"  
Her eyes went wide when she recognized him.  
"Oh, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Cena!"  
He put on a charming smile. There was no need to make her any more embarressed than she already was. He hated it when people were making a fuss just because he was… well, himself.  
"No problem, Miss."  
"Have you booked a room here? I haven't seen you in the files unless you booked incognito. I could check and see-"  
"No no no," he tried to calm her down. "I don't want a room. I'm actually searching for a colleque of mine."  
She breathed out, obviously relieved that she didn't make any mistake.  
"Well, there's Mr Rhodes and Mr DiBiase, John Morrison and that tall Irish guy," her ears turned bright red. "Oh, and Mr Orton of course. But I can't possibly give you their room numbers. They have required absolute privacy."  
John smiled again and lent over the desk closer to her in an almost conspiratorial gesture.  
"Well," he said, looking at her name tag. "Miss Cleaver-"  
"Mary," she interjected, her ears and cheeks bright red again.  
"Mary," he repeated, "Well, Mary, I completely understand my colleques' wish to have their privacy. Although meeting the fans every day is great and a lot of fun, we all need our time out, don't we?"  
She nodded emphatically.  
"I knew you'd understand. But you see, I'm not a fan and I certainly don't want to disturb anyone. I just need to have a quick chat and I'll be out in no time. It's actually quite important. And of course, this stays between the two of us."  
He gave her his best pleading look.  
"Well," she said, coyly turning her gaze away for a few seconds. "Maybe I could make an exception just this once. Whose room number do you need?"  
"Randy Orton's."  
She gave him an odd look but didn't comment on it. It was common knowledge in the WWE Universe that Randy Orton and John Cena had as much in common as vinegar and jam, and that they would probably never get along. They were probably the last people on the list of wrestlers who would meet each other in the middle of the night for a decent chat and a cup of tea.

The receptionist typed a few things into her computer.  
"Room 311," she finally said. "Take the lift up to the fourth floor and turn right. It should be the last room on the left side."  
"Thank you very much, Mary," he said with a broad smile and turned towards the lift, always aware of her stares directed at his neck. He didn't like taking advantage of his fame, at least not like this, but meeting Orton tonight was important if he didn't want his curiosity to eat him up from the inside out and he had had no intention to knock on every door in this hotel until he found the right one.

The corridor was completely silent when he finally found the room he had been looking for. The thick carpet made a soft rustling noise as John shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back, the silver letters of the room numbers glaring at him, daring him to knock. For a brief moment he wondered what he was actually doing in front of Orton's hotel room door in the middle of the night. Did he really want to go in there and have another, most likely unfruitful attempt at having a decent conversation with Orton? And what did he expect anyway? John realised that he didn't even knew how to start this conversation.  
'Hey, Randy. I thought I'd just pop my head in and ask why you went ballistic on Hunter today" or "Sorry Orton, I know this may sound like a cheesy pick-up-line but I really want to know what's going on in your head" didn't seem like suitable options when you didn't want the Legend Killer to kick your teeth in after three seconds of conversation. Moreover, John had the feeling that ever since he first realised that some changes were going on inside that kid, Randy had become more and more introverted when it came to expressing emotions and thoughts. It would be harder than ever to get any answers out of him.  
John sighed and cursed his curiosity and good-hearted nature for the nth time in his life but even before his brain could catch up with him, he knocked on the door before him.

For a few seconds the silence became a heavy burden on John's shoulders as the anticipation became a tight knot in his belly. He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason why he was so nervous. Maybe it was because he didn't know what was coming or because he felt like a school boy again trying to solve the major mystery of why the school yard bully stole everyones' cookies. Or maybe it was just because wanting to talk to Orton felt like a plain act of masochism. Many other wrestlers would rather run into a buzz saw with a broad smile than having an encounter with the younger wrestler while Orton would rather bite his tongue off than share personal information with any of them. But despite all that, he was standing there, the great John Cena, sweaty palms and knotty stomach just because his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Suddenly he heard movement, feet on carpet and the muffled voice of Randy Orton that came from somewhere within the room.  
"I told you to go to bed, Cody. Really, you and Ted are the most clingy-"  
The door opened and suddenly John was faced by Randy Orton. A half-naked Randy Orton, clad in nothing but a tiny white towel that was draped around his narrow hips. It made him look like one of these Egytians with the white loincloths in ancient temple paintings, except for the hair and the added 3rd dimension. The draft from within the room carried some heady smell to John's nose, soap and rain and bitter orange and something that just yelled "MAN!" at him. Combined with the fact that Orton's skin was still wet, John deduced that he had most likely taken a shower just a few seconds ago. What a deduction! An act of Sherlockery that really didn't deserve the title.

But his brain wasn't quite working the way it should simply because he hadn't exprected …this. Actually, if he was honest to himself, he hadn't expected anything. He felt like a chicken put into a wrester's speedo without any idea of what to do in the ring. And for a man with no expectations and no plan on how to deal with an opponent, a wet, perfumed and almost naked Randy Orton could be considered quite a blow. Not that he hadn't seen Orton semi-nude before - some strippers wore more attire to work than most wrestler's did - but there was something about this towel, it's loose fit, it's general existence or the fact that it made John feel like an intruder into a very private privatesphere maybe, that was quite unsettling.

John mentally slapped himself.

"Cena?"  
His last name spoken by Orton was full of surprise and disgust and it certainly didn't help John to feel any better.  
"What are you doing here?"  
That was a very good question. Logically speaking, he should have been in his hotel, in his room, snoring into his pillow or playing some game on his Nintendo DS until his eyes dropped shut. But he wasn't and he really began to think that coming here was the most idiotic idea he had had in a long time.  
Nevertheless he heard himself say "I wanted to talk to you. About the match with Hunter."

An odd look passed over Orton's features but it was gone in an instant and left his face stone cold, frozen into an expression of disdain. John didn't recognize this expression at all, and he had seen quite a lot of things on Orton's face over the last few years: pain, despair, hope, joy, determination, satisfaction, but never this icy stare that revealed nothing but bitter contempt. John never thought he would come to the point at which he wished for the cocky smile to return to Orton's face but right now even that seemed better than this strange expression.

"There is nothing left unsaid," Orton said, his voice sharp like a razor. "If you've seen the match, then you know everything."  
That was a strange thing to say, especially for Orton. Although most of the time he had had no problems to turn rhetoric into action, Orton had always liked to talk first and afterwards. A lot. The fact that he now seemed to think that actions spoke louder than words showed John that indeed some grave changes were going on inside that young man.

"I just wondered," John answered while trying to formulate his next sentence with great care, "I just wondered how it was possible for you to end your …streak of bad luck …and beat Triple H like you did. I mean, it looked like you'd lose."  
There was a strange pause in which Orton closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, a thing that John hadn't seen him do any time before his last match.  
When the younger wrestler didn't answer, John probed a bit more.  
"That was pretty nasty what you did to Hunter's face. He was done way before that. You had no reason to do that."  
"It was necessary," the deep baritone of Orton's voice pressed the words forth like a long hiss that for some strange reason made the tiny hairs on the back of John's neck stand on end.  
"It was cold and cruel," he answered. "The Randy Orton I know is a lot of things. He is cocky and a dickhead, stubborn and full of the need to win and prove himself. And you can always see everything he feels right there written all over his face. He is not cold or cruel."

A flash of agony flared up inside the icy, blue eyes of the other man but it was immediately replaced by that other face that John began to despise very much. The tiniest hint of a smirk stole itself on Orton's lips, so small in fact that John almost missed it.  
"You have no idea who I am," he said, his voice deep and strong, "I am not the man I used to be."  
John thought that he heard faint regret in these words but he wasn't entirely sure. The whole man in front of him seemed to be even more of a mystery than he thought.  
"Who are you then?" he asked, trying not to sound too bold. It didn't work though.

"Get your face out of my sight, Cena," Orton said and tried to close the door. As quick as lightning, John grabbed hold of the wood, keeping it in a forceful grip thus blocking it completely. Orton glared at him, stemming his hands against the doorframe on both sides.  
"Who are you then, Orton?" John repeated more emphatically this time. "Who are you? What have you turned into?"  
"Go. Away."  
Orton's eyes flashed with ire that was barely kept in check, leaving John surprised at how quick he could get this young man up in arms, ready to leash out. Had Orton always been like this? So full of untamed, explosive anger?  
John decided that since there was no turning back anyway, he could just as well play his last card and see what would happen.

"The Viper?"

He wasn't prepared for the reaction he got.  
With one violent motion, Orton hit the doorframe that was closest to John's face with his fist, the movement and the loud bang making John jump in spite of himself, looking at the younger man with wide eyes.  
Orton clicked his tongue and bared blinding white teeth, showed his almost vampiric canines in the process, two fangs flashing before John in little more than a split second.

"Go away," Orton repeated, his words slow and deliberate, his voice deep and full of dark menace, "or I will end you here and now-"  
Orton leaned forward, hands still clutching the doorframe in a vice-like grip, his face only inches from John's, eyes coloured like arctic water, streaked with silver and outlined by a ring of midnight blue.  
"-with a punt to the skull."

Instinctively John took a step backwards and the last thing he saw before the door closed with a loud bang were two steely eyes, seemingly threatening to blind him forever by piercing his own. All that remained was silence and the faint smell of bitter orange, rain and Randy Orton.

...


	6. Chapter 6

A.N.: Thank you so much again for your comments. If you have any suggestions for the story or just want to say what you liked in particular, please let me know. It really keeps me going. Love and Power to you all! ;)

Voices - Chapter 6: Stare

A punt to the skull.  
Randy couldn't belief what he had said. It had taken a few seconds for the information to sink in but now, as he was leaning against the wall next to the door, the reality of his words hit him with brute force. Threatening someone with a punt was a huge thing to do, something that wasn't said lightly. A punt to a fellow wrestler outside the ring could mean his suspension or worse: losing his job. Never before in his life had he threatened someone like this. But he had been so very, very angry, so full of wrath so suddenly that he almost hadn't been able to control himself. Where did all this burning rage inside him come from? He grabbed hold of his own upper arms and took a deep breath to prevent himself from doing anything stupid.

*He deserved it,* the Predator hissed. *He has no right to meddle into our affairs. He would not have left if we had not done something.*  
"It's your fault," Randy said in his head. "All this rage …I cannot control it."  
*You will not have to. Anger is good. We will use it to our advantage soon.*  
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Then he felt the anger subside, taken away by the Predator.  
*It is okay now,* it said. *He begins to see who we are. And everyone else will know as well. Soon they will recognize us as the Viper. They will fear us.*

Randy still wasn't so sure if he really wanted that. The scene with Cena had shown him that these new compulsive, violent feelings in him weren't his making at all and yet, the Predator was a part of him that he wasn't able to deny. The Predator would have attacked Cena if Randy hadn't been able to close the door before anything else could have happened. He didn't like Cena. In fact, he found him an annoying kissass. Randy hated that broad smile and those charming dimples that made girls swoon and women sigh. He hated that every man seemed to long for being like the Chain Gang Soldier. He just hated Cena's very sight. But at the same time, he didn't want Cena destroyed, at least not in front of his hotel room in the middle of the night. There had been something in Cena's eyes - worry? pity? compassion? - that had helped him to keep the violent urge to punt him right then and there in check, if only just barely. Cena had good intentions and as much as Randy hated to admit it, some very small part of him longed for this attention. The same part of him that wanted to keep Cody and Ted, the same part that didn't want to be alone anymore.

*Stop this,* the Predator demanded. *You do not need any of them. You are not alone. You are with me now. I am the only one you need.*

Randy felt suddenly very cold and tired. He went over to his bed, dropping the towel to the floor as he climbed onto the matress, draping the covers over his body. Exhausted from his violent outburst, he fell asleep in that very instant, Cena's anxious features still on his mind and the Predator's voice still in his ear.  
*Yes, rest. I will see to you. Do not worry. You are with me now.*

...

"-and then he slammed the door right into my face!"

John was sitting at a table in his hotel's dinner hall having breakfast. With him were Evan Bourne and John Morrison, who attentively listened to John's report of what had happened the night before. Of course he didn't relate everything to them. What use would it have been if they had known that Orton had opened the door in nothing but a towel? This would only have led to gossip and John decided that there was enough of that around already. The Superstars liked to tattle and chatter as much as the Divas did. No need to add fuel to the fire.

"A punt? Geez, man. Sounds like Orton really is a few fries short of a Happy Meal," Evan said, munching on his cereals.  
"If you ask me, that guy has never been quite alright to begin with," Morrison added, looking at Evan and John over the rim of his coffee cup, his brown locks curled stylishly, his features annoyingly handsome. The guy looked like he had just been cut out from an advertisement for sunglasses or swimming trunks. But Morrison was loyal and a good pal, so John tried not to be too annoyed by the perfect features and flawless glam-rock style of the Shaman of Sexy.

John took a sip from his orange juice.  
"Well, he's not everyone's favorite, that's true," he conceded, "but he has to have some good features. I mean, why would DiBiase and Rhodes put up with him if Orton really was just the arrogant dickhead that he makes everyone else believe he is?"  
"Probably Stockholm Syndrome or something," Morrison said.  
John laughed. "That's a condition for hostages."  
"Well, it seems like a legit assumption," Evan said. "I mean, Orton doesn't hold them captive physically or something, but they are quite dependent on him. Maybe they just try to talk themselves into believing that he's alright when he actually just brainwashes them."  
"Yeah," Morrison said, "like with the dog and the bell."  
"You mean Pavlov's classical conditioning?" John asked.  
"Yeah, that," Morrison nodded. "They do something for Orton, he throws them a cookie and they go all nuts for him."  
John shook his head.  
"I don't think it's that easy," he stated. "Orton's highly intelligent, yes, and since yesterday I'm pretty sure he's capable of a lot of manipulation as well, but Rhodes and DiBiase don't look like little pugs on leashes to me."  
"Whatever you say, man," Evan said. "You're the one with the degree in psychology."  
"Physiology," John corrected. "I didn't do psychology in school. I just read a book from time to time. You know, these things made out of paper with words in them."  
"Shut up, Dr Thuganomics" Evan grinned. "At least I don't have to make up some idiotic university degree."  
John laughed and ruffled Evan's hair.

"But seriously, John," Morrison said, putting down his cup. "What are you going to do about Orton? Threatening you with a punt is tough shit but as long as the GM is happy with his performance in the ring, there is no way you can get Orton suspended for being a psychotic madman."  
"I don't want him suspended," John answered. "I'm just worried."  
"For your own safety or about him?" Evan asked, making John feel as if he was caught doing something nasty. "Because if you're worried about him, let me tell you one thing: He is a bigmouthed, antisocial, stubborn little prick. The only thing you'll get when you try and help him is a kick to the groin and spit on your face. Don't waste your time on him."  
"Evan's right," Morrison said. "He'd just be ungrateful. Good guys like you shouldn't bother with the likes of him."  
"Good guys like me should above all bother with guys like Orton. Some aren't that bad. They just need a nudge in the right direction," John responded.

Evan sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.  
"Geez, John! You've practically tried everything over the past years to win Orton over, including giving him the great Let's-all-be-friends-and-respect-each-other-speech. Face it, Orton's hopeless. That man doesn't want to be good. And as much as I wish you were, you're not Wonderwoman. If your attitude adjustment didn't do the trick, nothing will."

John slumped back into his chair.

"Yeah, I know," he said defeated. "I'm just a hopeless idealist."

"There's nothing wrong with that. You're great. It's Orton who's all wrong," Morrison said.  
"What are we gonna do about him then? If you're right, John, then he's become extremely dangerous," Evan added.  
John nodded.  
"I think we'll just have to wait and see what happens. I have a bad feeling about this, though. If Orton really changed this dramatically, you know, with the whole Viper idea, I'm not sure what to expect next."  
"It's not gonna be good, that's for sure," Morrison agreed. "Let's just hope that Hunter is the only victim of the Viper and that nobody else gets bitten."

...

Travelling across the country was quite exhausting and everybody was happy when they arrived at their next station for Monday Night RAW. Even after some years in the WWE, Randy still couldn't get around to getting used to the constant change of places, arenas, rooms and beds. The only thing that made him feel more at ease in the last few days was Cody's and Ted's company. Actually, the two youngsters seemed to be with him even more than usual, as if they felt that something had changed and wanted to make sure that Randy was alright. Not that they mentioned or said anything. They were just there, buzzing around him like bees around their queen. He really appreciated their company, although he wasn't quite able to show it the way he wanted to and although he still worried about the Predator inside him. He feared that if somehow teased or irritated by Cody or Ted, the Predator would try and leash out, just like it had tried to hurt Cena. Randy didn't want that to happen. Cody and Ted were the only people around that came even close to something like friends. He couldn't afford losing them, although the Predator had tried to convince him otherwise.

But the hissing voice had been pleasantly silent over the last few days and apart from the constant feeling that he wasn't alone even when he was the only person in the room, Randy was glad that Cody and Ted were safe, at least for the time being.

The next Monday came and his two companions had been put down for a tag team match against Evan Bourne and John Morrison, nothing too serious. Randy was sure that Cody and Ted would handle themselves quite well without him interferring. Although they didn't say anything, tried not to show any weakness, he knew that his protégés were quite tense and nervous about the match.

"Don't worry," Randy said as they walked through the backstage area in the early afternoon heading for the refectory to have a quick bite. He gave both of them a friendly pat to the back. "You'll go out there tonight and show them what you've learned."  
Both Cody and Ted looked at him astonished.  
"We're not worried," Ted lied unconvincingly.  
Randy smiled and Ted averted his eyes, partly embarressed and amused at the same time. They all knew that Randy was able to read them like a children's bedtime story.  
"You two will be alright," he said and went on, Cody and Ted at his heels exchanging meaningful smiles.

The refectory was one of the smaller main halls. In eight rows stood many tables and benches and on the far end of the room was the buffet where superstars and divas but also trainers, managers and roadies could get something to eat. Randy looked about him and saw Cena, Morrison and Bourne sitting near the salad bar. They all looked at him for a brief moment as he entered and he instantly knew that Cena had told them everything about the night at the hotel. He felt a tight knot forming somewhere in his stomach.

*Let them think what they will,* the Predator hissed, almost startling him.  
"Be quiet," Randy ordered without uttering a word and indeed the Apex Predator didn't say anything else. He didn't give in to the erroneous assumption that the voice submitted to him in any way, though. It probably just had nothing else to say at the moment.  
Some Divas were chatting away with two of the rookies from the developmental roster, obviously having great fun. Roadies roared with laughter somewhere on the benches near the exit. In one of the far corners of the room, Randy could see one of the newcomers, Wade Barrett, and some other newbies looking grimly over to Cena and his friends, their tense faces giving the impression of a bunch of apes with constipation.

"They're not going to have some proper food around here, right? I'd really kiss Kane right now just to get a piece of proper cheesecake," Ted grumbled, obviously oblivious to the sources of tension in the room.  
"Ugh, Ted. That's absurd," Cody said, amused and grossed out at the same time.  
"Face it, Cody, we can't all live on chicken and fat-free, sugar-free, decaf latte, like you do," Ted joked. Cody bashed his eyes at him playfully.  
"Well, at least I keep my girlish figure, Mr Muffin Top." Ted poked him into the ribs.  
"Take that back!"  
"Make me!"  
"Boys!" Randy interjected, surpressing a grin. "As much as I hate putting an end to your domestic, I'd like to keep the dignity of Legacy intact. What impression do you make on your future opponents when you're bickering like an old couple in the middle of the room?"  
"Sorry," Cody and Ted said, adding an whispered "Daddy" to it that made Randy actually smile broadly for a second.  
"You two are going to be the nails in my coffin."  
"Does that mean that you actually want to have us around for that long?" Cody grinned. "I told you, Ted, he's just practicing tough love on us."  
"I'll practice something else on you two if you don't shut up now and get me some coffee," Randy said and tried to sound at least somewhat strict. The smiles, however, didn't vanish from his companion's faces.

While Cody and Ted were off to get something to eat and drink from the buffet, Randy sat down at some table at the other end of the hall, putting as much space between him and everyone else in the room as possible. His back faced the wall behind him, so that he had a good overview of the whole room. He looked over the distant faces of his colleques, Cena, Morrison, Bourne, Barrett.  
*Always be careful,* the voice hissed in the back of his head. *None of them can be trusted.*  
"I know," Randy thought and looked over to Cena one more time.

...

John had spent the whole morning briefing Morrison and Evan on how to deal with the two-third-Legacy tag team, discussing strategies and weaknesses of their opponents. Although no title was on the line, his friends were eager to win.

When it was time for a break, they had gone to the cafeteria, only to bump into Wade Barrett and some of the rookies that circled around him like moons around a planet.  
"Watch it!" Barrett had shouted in his thick accent when John had accidentaly brushed his elbow against the other one's arm while standing at the buffet. Meeting Wade Barrett and his goons was never good and John knew that. Some of the rookies found the idea unbearable to work for their success and were jealous of some of the older wrestlers. And Barrett it seemed had started hating John ohn sight, looking at him as if he was something horribly disgusting. John had no problems with self-esteem or his own ego but being looked at like that always hurt, even just a little and even if his opponent was just an ill-humored, jaundiced British bully.

"Don't take him too seriously," Morrison said, when they sat down at a table. "Barrett's got a big mouth but that's it. Dogs that bark, you know the rest."  
"Yeah," John said unconvinced. He knew that you couldn't be too careful with opponents like Barrett. These guys always played dirty and had more than just one ace up their sleeve.

And then, as if Barrett hadn't been enough bad luck for one day, Legacy entered the hall when John and his friends had just taken a seat. DiBiase and Rhodes were flanking their leader and talking to each other. They were both in great shape but very different: DiBiase always reminded John of a Pit Bull, broad shoulders and almost no neck, while Rhodes resembled a Doberman, more on the trim and slender side. John knew that both were considered quite handsome among the Divas but their presence seemed pale compared to their leader's physique.

For the first time John noticed how different Orton looked since their beginnings in WWE. His mind and senses no longer completely flash frozen by his encounter with the half-naked head of Legacy, he was really seeing the difference now: The cute baby fat had completely melted from Orton's face, revealing perfectly chiselled features that had been hidden for so long. The bald head and heavily tattooed arms did away with the handsome boy image completely. Randy Orton had changed from the the funny, good-looking school boy into the greatest temptation ever created in hell, probably brought into being by the hoofed fiend himself, as John mused. And a great job had he had done of it, too, even John had to acknowledge that.

"Mankind to John Cena," Evan's voice ripped him out of his thoughts. "Wherever you are, we'd like to have you back."  
John shook his head.  
"Sorry, but-" he nudged his head in the direction of Orton and his partners. Evan and Morrison turned their heads.  
"Ah, I see. The Unholy Trinity caught your attention," Evan commented.  
John saw how Orton flashed them a dark stare and Evan and Morrison turned back towards John.  
"Man, I never noticed that before but that man's eyes can really give you the creeps," Morrison said, shuddering in a fake display.  
"Yeah," Evan said. "I think the room temperature just dropped by ten degrees. Look, I've got goosebumps."

John witnessed how Orton sent Rhodes and DiBiase off to the buffet while he sat himself down as far away from everybody else as possible, eyes slowly roaming the hall. John watched Orton with attentive eyes, caught up again in his own thoughts. He hadn't seen the other man at all after their midnight encounter but hadn't been able to stop thinking about the Legend Killer since then. The paradox that was Randy Orton, the contradicting emotions he had seen on his face, kept resurfacing as mental pictures before his eyes. John still wondered what was truly going on inside the other wrestler's mind, wanted to know what had brought about the mysterious changes within him.

Suddenly, Orton's eyes were on him, and it felt as if somebody had stunned him with a taser. Even across the distance of the hall, John could see the intensity of the other one's gaze, could feel the animosity directed at him. But although the stare clearly said to keep a distance, Orton had held the gaze of no one else. It was as if he was searching out John and John only, establishing a weird, ambivalent connection between them, reaching out and pulling back at the same time. His gaze was mesmerizing and intimidating and John didn't dare to look away. He would never lose a staredown but he also just didn't want to look away, didn't want to lose the connection that could maybe, just maybe, solve all the mysteries for him. But suddenly Orton broke the contact that John had so desperately tried to keep up, as something else caught the Legend Killer's attention.

"Uh-oh," Morrison said, "I smell trouble."  
In the doorframe stood a tall figure, a tank on legs, clad in jeans and a sleeveless leather jacket, testosterone leaking from every pore. He looked at Orton, his features that had been relaxed a second ago suddenly darkening with hatred.

It was Batista, the Animal, ready to tear up the Viper.

...


	7. Chapter 7

A.N.: Sorry for the late update. This one makes me very, very happy though. I hope you enjoy it.

Voices - Chapter 7: Pack

Randy locked eyes with Batista, glacial blue colliding with fiery brown. He could see the rage building up in his former stable mate, saw the deep intake of breath, the wide nostrils, the flaring glare and the plate-sized hands that balled into fists.

Randy felt the slightest tinge of fear welling up inside him. He had had his encounters with Batista and only few, very few of them had turned out well for himself. Batista was as strong as he was ferocious and as sadistic as he was egocentric. He had dealt out many blows into Randy's direction, leaving him bloody and broken more than once. He remembered how he had been kicked out of Evolution, how Flair and Hunter and Batista had attacked him, remembered the blood on his face. Batista wasn't called the Animal for no reason.

*He is no Animal,* the Predator hissed, suddenly there in his mind with all its presence, overwhelmingly real. *He is the degenerate idea of an animal, a human chunk of meat.*  
Randy felt a wave of confidence emitting from the entity within him, filling him up with a feeling of security that left no room for his fears and all the dark memories.  
*Do not be afraid. Just stay with me. He cannot harm us. You are with me.*

"You bastard son of a bitch."  
Batista pressed out each word with force through his clenched teeth, spit spewing from his lips.  
"How dare you show your face here after what you've done?"  
Of course he meant what had transpired the week before and what Randy had done to Hunter's face. Although the times of Evolution were long gone, Batista was still very much involved with their former mentors, Flair and Triple H. Although intellectually Batista was still missing a few bulbs for his sockets, he was a great opportunist and knew when it was time to be his bosses' obedient one-man-army to gain some favors and when it was time to cash in on them. Now seemed to be the time for the former, much to Randy's annoyance. He didn't have to answer him, though.

"The last time I checked this was the cafeteria, not your kennel, Batista."  
That was Ted who seemed to have beamed over from the buffet together with Cody as soon as they saw Batista entering the hall. They both had the remarkable talent of miraculously appearing out of nowhere whenever Randy seemed in need of help, a wonderful feature, but one he didn't want to rely on: he had been cheated on far too often and had suffered far too many blows from people he had put all his trust in to fall into that trap again. But the sincerity that surrounded his two mates, that naive faith that was clearly visible in their eyes made all the difference, and although that huge part of Randy that still licked his wounds recoiled and rebelled against this treatment, that small other part of him that was so fond of these two youngsters had started to rely on their loyalty. It was a rather pleasant, gratifying feeling to have other people at his side, not to have to fight off all the bad things alone, although he wanted to think that he could do that too. It was a feeling he would never acknowledge to anyone, a priceless, fragile thing that he kept deep within him and secretly held on to. Sometimes he thought he was like Gollum petting his precious, and maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of truth in that thought, as hideous as it made him feel.

"Mind your own business, moneybags," Batista spat in Ted's direction.  
"This IS our business," Cody intervened, head held high with a stern expression on his face. Demonstratively, he put down a cup of hot, black coffee in front of Randy, who was still sitting there seemingly calm, but with a tenseness in his shoulders that revealed to any trained eye that he was ready for a fight any time.  
"Thank you, Cody," Randy said in a tight voice, his eyes never leaving Batista.  
"You're welcome," Cody answered, both junior Legacy members getting closer to their leader.  
"Milk?" Ted offered, his eyes set on Batista as well, offering a small can of condensed milk to Randy.  
"Yes, please."

...

John watched the exchange with abundant fascination. The moment the Animal had entered the hall, all the conversations had died, so that John was able to hear every word that was uttered.  
The display of power, allegiance and loyalty he witnessed was truly cunning: He had never seen Orton taking milk in his coffee (How on earth did he know that?) but even that seemed part of this amazing little improvised show that Legacy seemed to put on stage right in front of them all, with small means putting on an impressive exhibition of who they thought was the Alpha male in this room.

Batista looked at the three young men with a mixture of disbelief and fury, his eyes darting from Randy to Cody and Ted, then back to Randy. He was obviously doing the math.  
"I wouldn't put too much faith in these two if I were you, Randal. Your cheerleaders won't always be there to save your ass. Wouldn't it be a shame if something bad happened to it?" Batista said with a sneer.  
There was a tense silence for a brief moment before Randy leant forward just lightly. John had to really cock his ears to hear the Legacy leader talk.  
"I didn't know you were interested in my ass, Dave."

Next to John, Evan tried to stifle a laugh but didn't quite manage. Batista sent a mad glare into their direction before he turned back to Randy.  
"Watch it, Orton," he warned. "Your little pack won't last long if you keep up this attitude. Would you like to have your puppies hurt?"  
Rhodes and DiBiase exchanged meaningful glances.

...

Randy clenched his jaw.  
"He's threatening Cody and Ted," he thought, a knot forming somewhere between his chest and belly.  
*Why do you care? We are a rogue. Snakes do not live in packs,* the hissing voice said.  
Randy thought about it.  
"The Apex Predator does," he told the voice.  
*You are too sentimental.*  
Randy groaned inwardly. Yes, he knew he was. These two young men were his one weak spot and Batista, as dim as he sometimes was, knew about that.  
"They protect us," Randy said in a last attempt to make the Predator see how important Ted and Cody were. "Can't you see that? What they do, standing here with us. They are useful."  
*Human shields," the Predator hissed. *Replaceable. Expendable. You do not need them. You have me now.*

Oblivious to the struggle that went on in Randy's head, Batista decided that this was not the time nor the place to take revenge on Randy. There wasn't enough audience to witness how he would humiliate Orton, and DiBiase and Rhodes needed to be put out of the way first.  
"Think about it," Batista said, his voice a deep rumble, before he turned around and left the hall, not knowing that he wasn't the Animal that Randy feared the most.

...

The crowd was energetic and friendly that night, so much in fact that it annoyed Randy to a new extreme. They were cheering and whistling and shouting for Bourne and Morrison, held up oversized foam hands and a ridiculous number of signs, wore bright orange Cenation-Shirts that had as many sickeningly charming dimples as their Leader. Part of his foul mood derived from the unpleasant encounter with Batista earlier that day, an encounter which had left him thoughtful and apprehensive.

At the same time his feelings were quite ambivalent: He wanted to protect Cody and Ted, needed to make sure that Batista or any other members of Evolution didn't make the two youngsters suffer for what Randy had done. That was why Randy didn't stay in one of the rooms with the monitors, but secretly followed Ted and Cody directly behind the stage where he would be able to follow what was going on inside the ring.

On the other hand, he knew and felt that the Predator didn't want him to be there. The thing inside him was jealous of all the attention he payed to his two fellow Legacy members and didn't understand why Randy needed them so much, why the serpent's company wasn't enough, would never be enough. He knew that the Predator was only biding its time, waited for an opportunity to separate Randy from his team. But as much as Randy didn't want that to happen, he also knew that he was the one that put Ted and Cody in danger in the first place, both by having attacked Evolution and by harbouring this vicious voice inside him. A sick feeling made his guts coil at the thought.

He looked over to the ring where Ted and Cody were already waiting for their opponents, young and vibrant, feeling invincible, totally open to the world, still too careless for their own good. He needed to teach them how to cover their backs.  
In that very moment, as Morrison and Bourne headed towards the ring, he felt that distinctive tingle in his neck that told him that he was being watched.

...

John's original intention had been to watch the match on one of the monitors as usual, but he changed his plan as soon as he saw Orton sneak out behind DiBiase and Rhodes, silently and only detected by the Cenation Leader slipping somewhere between the scenery. Indignation and determination flared up inside him: if Orton wanted to interfere in the match to gain an advantage for his team mates, John would make sure that his plans wouldn't work out.

Trying not to draw any attention to himself (which was not as easy as he thought; the rubber sole of his sneakers made little squeaking noises on the floor), he followed Orton into the scenery. Hiding between two large wheeled equipment boxes, he watched Orton standing hidden from the audience's view between the different lighting elements. The young wrestler leaned on one of the surrounding boxes, arms folded in front of his chest while he looked intently at the ring. His face was half-hidden in the shadows, the darkness covering his left eye and cheek like an adamant mask, unmoving, mysterious, cold. The other half was illuminated by the red and yellow light from the huge LED-canvas above, the soft glow making his normally hard features look smooth and almost delicate.

For the second time that day John thought how easy it was to understand why the Divas all went nuts for his looks: Orton had incredibly handsome features that would have attracted so many women if it hadn't been for the fierce stare and the grim expression he put on so often. His aloofness and arrogance, that dark mask, was what scared people away and made them look at him with distrust and resentment.

But there, bathed in a warm glow and silent shadows, was something else, someone else, someone John didn't know. A man who had withdrawn into himself, someone who tried to shut out the world bit by bit, someone determined to keep bitter secrets, someone afraid of both the blazing light and the unrelenting darkness.  
Someone who existed in twilight.

"Do you always cower in dark corners to observe people?"  
Orton's dark voice made him kump involuntarily, although the question was uttered with less force and cutting irony than John could have expected. Rather, Randy's voice sounded thoughtful and half-distracted as he was still looking towards the ring. The match had started already.

"I don't observe people, just you."  
That was not exactly what he had wanted to say but it did come out of his mouth anyway and now John marvelled at his own inability to form unambiguous sentences. Randy's right eyebrow rose for a second as he watched John out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. The aura of delicacy was still there but at the same time the dangerousness had returned and mingled with the softness from before, creating a strange mixture that John was unable to comprehend.

"And to what do I owe the honor of your undivided attention?" asked the tattooed wrestler, the sting and this unfamiliar hiss back in his voice. Although John was used to the sarcasm after all these years of knowing Orton, he still found this new piercing quality quite unsettling. Hiding his uncertainty behind his trademark demeanor, he came a few steps closer to Randy.  
"I just want to make sure that-" he looked briefly over to the ring where the fight was still in progress. "- the odds are even."

Randy cocked his head to one side, barely noticeable. It only took him a matter of seconds to understand what John meant.  
"You think I want to interfere in the match."  
"Well, your teammates are out there fighting an important match against two very strong opponents. I think its reasonable to assume that a stable leader wouldn't want his pupils to lose."  
Just to see what a reaction he would get, he added: "Ric and Hunter always did that, didn't they?"

John knew how much Randy hated his former mentors, how much he had felt humiliated after they had kicked him out of the stable, after they had beat the living daylights out of him, leaving him broken and bleeding while mocking him relentlessly. That is why John had expected anger or some other violent feeling from Orton. He didn't expect that haunted look that suddenly glazed over Randy's expression, didn't expect him to look away again instead of seeking out the confrontation. For a brief moment there was silence between them, only the muffled echo of the cheering crowd painting the soundscape, as the other wrester seemed to retreat into himself once more only to resurface again, determined this time, a hard glint in his eyes.

"Ted and Cody don't need my help. They can deal with these amateures on their own."  
As if to prove his words, Cody chose that moment to deliver Cross-Rhodes to Morrison.  
"I'm just here for the show."

...

The comparison to Ric and Hunter had hurt more than he could have anticipated. It mad him feel as if he didn't deserve all the victories and the fame he had gained during his time with Evolution. And, even more importantly, he didn't want to be the leader to Ted and Cody that Ric or Hunter had been to him. He knew that his face probably revealed his pain but he had no means to hide it from John at that moment. He hated how vulnerable that must make him in the other one's eyes.

*We are not weak,* the Predator hissed. "Those who hurt you will pay for what they have done. I will see to that. No one will harm you ever again. We will seize our rightful place, the top of the food chain. Until then we will watch mice fighting over gravel.*

"Ted and Cody don't need my help. They can deal with these amateures on their own. I'm just here for the show," he heard himself say, but his voice sounded alien to him, sharp and lifeless like a flintstone.

Down in the ring, Ted and Cody were still fighting Morrison and Evan, both teams in top form, but Legacy with the upper hand. Bourne and Morrison hadn't had that much tag team matches together, they didn't know each other as well as Cody and Ted did, which gave Legacy a huge advantage.

Randy watched Ted delivering a beautiful supplex to Bourne, crashing the short wrestler into the mat with incredible force. He also saw the mixed reactions of the audience, the hands, the lips that shouted "oooww" and the waving signs. And then, all of the sudden, he saw a movement down there in the crowd, something that didn't belong there: Someone was moving through the ranks, someone built like a bull, strong neck and broad shoulders, moving through the rows with long strides directly heading for the ring with deadly determination.

"Batista," Randy breathed out, half surprised and half incensed.  
"What?!"  
He had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone. Suddenly Cena was next to him, all animosity forgotten, almost touching his shoulder as he looked towards the ring. If he hadn't been so worried about Batista's unexpected appearance in the arena, Randy maybe would have noticed the goosebumps forming on his upper arm.

The Animal had reached the ring within a matter of seconds, grabbing hold of Ted's shoes as the Legacy member tried to launch another attack at Bourne. With great force, Batista pulled Ted forward, smashing his face into the mat. Randy felt a sick feeling suddenly crawling up inside him, like he had just been kicked to the stomach.  
This wasn't right, not Ted, not Cody, not because of him. He saw how Batista swiftly rolled into the ring, turned Ted around and started beating his face and chest. Cody tried to interfere but was smashed to the ground with a choke slam.

*This is no Animal,* the voice hissed. *He is nothing. He thinks he can show off with this, scare us, but he won't succeed.*  
Again, Randy felt the overpowering presence of the Predator filling him from the inside. He felt the confidence and the strength flooding his being, he felt the rage setting his soul on fire.  
*This is our territory. There can only be one predator. Go and show him, who we are.*

As if in slow-motion, his sharp eyes saw how Ted's head flew back onto the mat, how Cody struggled for air, Batista's roar of sadistic pleasure, and something within him snapped. Venom pumped through his veins, burning and biting under his skin, colours exploded in his vision as his iris contracted, muscles taut, flooded with oxygen, ready to release the energy. His fear for his only friends, his guilt, and this toxic fury became a explosive potion, unpredictable and beyond his control.

And then he burst into fire and wrath.

...

A.N.: Can John stop the Viper from doing whatever it wants to do? Will John see what is really going on inside Orton? Why is the Predator suddenly so keen on joining the action? And will we get more slash? ... Questions, questions, questions and even more questions. Are you still with me, my wonderful ones? ;)


	8. Chapter 8

A.N.: Gosh, this took some time. I hope you'll enjoy it, though. Describing bodies in movement or even "just" still bodies is incredibly challenging, I think, and I hope I did an adequate job. I've put a lot of thought into this and am extremely looking forward to hearing your opinions. :)

Voices: Chapter 7 - Bite

It all happened so quickly that John was unable to comprehend it at first. He saw Batista dashing into the ring, knocking down DiBiase and Rhodes single-handedly, while Evan and JoMo were still too shock-frozen to do anything.

Then he looked over to Randy, only to see the silver flash of bright eyes, that same look he had seen a week ago before Randy had beat Hunter into oblivion. The next thing he knew was that he felt a rush of cool air drifting past him, as Randy sprinted towards Gorilla position.

"Shit!" he cursed and dashed after the younger man, quickly realising that a mad Orton was impossible to catch up with. He felt that this was going to end badly. Batista had no right to interfere in the match between Legacy and John's friends, even if the wish for revenge was firing him up. Knowing Batista and his brutal mentality, John also knew that DiBiase and Rhodes were not the Animals' actual targets. This was meant to get Randy to come out of the wood, hopefully in a mindless state, to make a devastating move against the ex-Evolution prodigy all the easier. And yet, he had seen what this new Randy was capable of, the destruction and the brutality, knowledge he could have lived without, he decided.

But still John wasn't quite sure why he was following Orton, why he felt so desperate to prevent anything bad from happening. As far es his judgement went, Evan and JoMo were safe, Batista didn't want anything with them. So why bother? He felt absolutely neutral about Rhodes and DiBiase, it wasn't them he was running for. Did he want to prevent Orton from doing what he had done to Hunter to Batista? Did he want to help the Animal? No, certainly not. He didn't like Batista, he had had a few feuds with the huge Wrestler himself and would have been glad not to see that guy around too often in the future.

So what ws it then?

When he finally rounded the corner and reached the Gorilla position, Randy was already outside, the wild voices of the fans accompanying him. John tried to speed up and went up the few steps and unto the stage. The audience cheered for him loudly as he stood on the ramp to survey the situation. He didn't hear them, though. All he did was to look towards the ring. He would never forget what he saw.

...

The sharp hiss repeated itself in his head, spurring him on, the infernal command banning all rationality from his mind. Randy was in flames, all tender feelings burnt, consumed by the firestorm that was the Predator's hatred. The serpent coiled around him, holding him tight, shutting his heart out from all that was outside, fangs white and dripping with poison, ready to strike. This was them. This was him. He was the Viper and he was going to prey on the Animal.

He heard nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears when he ran into the arena, deaf to the surprised shouts and cheers and boos from the audience. His keen eyes were only focused on Batista, who was towering above Cody and Ted, smiling sadistically at him, as he saw Randy running to the ring.

*The Animal's hubris will be its downfall,* the Predator hissed. *Coil and kill. No mercy, no deliverance. If it is an Animal, if it is a man, then it is prey. Bite it until it moves no more.*

He slithered into the ring in one, fast motion, his long body gliding over the mat almost without friction, and stood up momentarily, one leg bent, the other stretched out to his left, his arms in mid-air, looking at Batista from below.

"Hey, Randal," Batista growled, the wicked smile still in place. He balled his hands into huge fists, ready to smash the young wrestler with them. "Thanks for joining the party. I've been waiting for you all evening."  
He was so sure of himself, so ready to turn Orton's pretty face to mush and couldn't wait for the cocky smile to appear on the lips of his former stable mate, that cocky smile that he wanted to wipe from these lips forever. But Randy wasn't there and the smile didn't appear.

The Viper bared his teeth and hissed loudly, eyes wide, loving the way surprise and shock stole their way on the Animal's face, Batista's features no longer his to control.  
*He is afraid of us. Can you smell it?* the Predator asked and he could. Suddenly it was all around him, the sweet odor of fear seeping from Batista's pores and the two other men in the ring. For a brief moment Randy was back, looking down at Ted and Cody, who looked afraid and vulnerable, trying to crawl away from Batista. They locked eyes with Randy for a second, only for a second, but it was enough for them to see how Randy sent them a last brotherly look that told them that he would take care of everything now. And then - all of a sudden - that look was gone and Randy with it. Instead, they saw two cold orbs staring out of a rock-hard face, a glint of malice in them as they shot poisonous daggers at Batista.

Another hiss penetrated the air, the Viper moved, shot up and tackled the Animal into the ropes, ripped his left arm forward and pulled, gripping Batista's nape while tripping him up at the same time. Batista flew forward, right into the floor, his face crashing into the mat with high-speed, creating a loud slapping sound that echoed through the hall. And then the Viper was all over his opponent, beating him fiercly, drumming his fists into Batista's head and face. He felt wild, unleashed, real and strong, detached from himself somehow, all fired up and angry, oh so angry.  
*Bite until it moves no more!*  
And with each punch the Viper thought "Yesss!"

...

John saw how Randy let a wild storm of punches rain down on Batista's face, the larger wrestler unable to shield his head with his arms. It was unbelievable: Batista was huge and much heavier than Randy, it should have been easy for him to lift the younger one and get away from his attacker, even in this situation. But Randy seemed to have access to an unnatural source of power that fueled him somehow, making it impossible for Batista to escape. If this went on, then John was sure that the Animal wouldn't leave this ring alive.

John ran up to the ring, slid unto the mat and jumped over to where Randy was still kneeling above the helpless Batista, hitting him again and again. He got behind Randy quickly and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders, trying to drag Randy away from the Animal. He was surprised to find that he actually had to put his whole weight and strength into the pull before he was able to manage to get Orton off of the larger Wrestler. With one mighty pull he dragged Randy's body backwards onto the mat, where the younger one rolled over immediately, going on all fours, looking at John.

For the second time in only a few days, John looked into the eyes of a man he didn't know. But while at the hotel, there had been bitter contempt and anger in Orton's eyes, now there was nothing but bleak madness. The blue irises were like biting frost, those features that had been smooth and handsome a moment ago were now twisted with an unnatural ire.  
"Randy?" John asked carefully, both hands stretched out in what was meant to be a calming gesture. Randy didn't answer but continued staring at him, still worked up, breathing heavily. It was then that John realized that the bent posture, this most elegant, sinewy, glistening curve that was Randy's body, crouching there before him, was as manlike as his wild stare: not at all. This was not Randy.

"Viper?" John asked, prepared to jump out of the way at any moment.  
A fierce hiss came from the feral beast before him, his body indicating an attack only to fall back into that crouching stance.  
"This is so not good," John thought. If he couldn't reach any rational part of Randy, if there was only the Viper to talk to, then there would have to be a brawl and the last thing he wanted to do right now was to fight a mental Randy Orton while being totally unprepared.  
"Listen," he said choosing his words carefully, "there is no need to get all worked up, okay? Batista is down, the match is over, you can take your teammates now and go home."

The Viper looked over to Rhodes and DiBiase and to John's surprise it looked as if the Legacy leader had never seen his teammates before. His eyes revealed no affection or recognition. Instead, the Viper looked barely interested, as if looking at two random strangers. Then his head turned and he looked over at Batista, who was still on the mat on all fours, trying to move out of the ring. His face was seriously injured, blood dripping from several lacerations on his forehead and face.

John saw how Orton's eyes narrowed to slits, a ferocious glint in them, as they stared at the helpless Animal. There was a tiny nod and then an evil grin played around the corners of his mouth. John could see an idea forming in the Viper's head and knew that he wouldn't like it, whatever it was.

"Randy," he said, louder this time, hoping to reach the younger man somehow. "Randy, listen! Whatever is going on in your mind, just stop it, okay? You don't have to do this. You can just walk away now. Nobody will stop you from leaving."  
John moved slowly and deliberately between Orton and Batista, effectively blocking the Viper's vision. The grin fell off Orton's face immediately, his eyes suddenly fixed on John again. The Cenation Leader didn't like the attention at all but at least he was still able to defend himself. Batista clearly wasn't. Sometimes it really sucked to be the good guy.

From the left side of the ring, he could see Evan and JoMo slowly approaching, ready to take Orton out if need be. John shook his head no in their direction, trying to tell them that it was too dangerous right now. The movement seemed to rouse the Viper's attention, who looked over to the two other wrestlers, clearly becoming more and more furious.

This was so not good.

...

He looked around and saw two men, their faces somehow familiar.  
"Ted and Cody," he thought but there was no feeling at all. The Predator's anger had taken up all the space that was in him and didn't allow room for anything else. When he looked over at Batista, the heat inside him boiled up, he felt bile and venom rising within him, red hatred gnawing at the peripheries of his vision.  
*That animal tried to destroy us once,* the Predator said, feeding Randy's mind with the images of his last night with Evolution, that fight that had changed his life and wrecked his trust forever. Within a split second, the Predator made him relive the agony and the humiliation of that night. He could see his own bloody face, his beaten body, could feel his soul break under the hands of the men he had trusted and idolized once.  
*They will be no more. We will destroy them so they can never harm us again. And then, we will be free. Bite it until it moves no more.*  
The Viper nodded and grinned.

Something moved in between him and his prey, no, not something, someone. He looked up and saw another familiar face.  
*He wants to deny us our victory,* the Predator hissed. *And he is with his pack.*  
From the left he saw Bourne and Morrison closing in on the ring, slowly moving inside against Cena's non-verbal advice.  
He was surrounded.

Rapidly pumped through by his increasing heartrate, blood and venom rushed through his body. He could feel the vein on his neck pulsing to the rhythm of his drumming wrath.  
*Bite until they move no more!* the Predator ordered, the feral voice sharp and biting. *Bite!*  
"Bite," Randy repeated, fletching his teeth.

...

John gave JoMo and Evan a panicky look and tried to convey to them somehow that they had to leave the ring. The last thing he wanted was for Randy to feel trapped or surrounded in any way. He just knew that this would trigger a dangerous and desperate attack by the wrought-up Randy, who seemed to barely hold in check whatever wild and violent emotions were coursing through him at that moment.

But it was too late already. His friends were in the ring, closing in on Randy, and the next thing he saw, was the contorted face of the young wrestler, his head thrashing around twice from left to right. Then he heard that word, 'bite', heard it come from Randy's mouth spoken with Randy's voice and yet John had never heard something more bizarre and alien before, a word that inspired terror within him and made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

And then, in a split second, Evan flew out of the ring (how exactly John wasn't sure; all he had been able to see were a flash of Orton, strong arms and blinding white teeth). JoMo tried to grab Randy from behind, but the Viper wouldn't have that. Two feet connected hard with the Shaman's jaw, a sickening crunch audible even for John. His friend flew backwards onto the mat, obviously out cold.

Picking himself up in one swift motion, the Viper stood up again, his eyes on John once more. Now he was the only one blocking the way between the Viper and it's prey. He really, really hated his job sometimes. But before he was able to react, he felt the mat moving heavily and he instantly knew that Batista was up again. Cursing inwardly for his own stupidity, he was pushed away hard by the bleeding Animal and bounched into the ropes. With a deafening roar Batista dashed foreward in an attempt to spear Randy, but it never came to that.

The Viper slid across the mat on his knees, rounded Batista elegantly and raised himself up at the same time. When Batista turned around to hit his opponent, he was met with an arm around his neck. Just as only a few days before, John saw how Randy jumped off the ground, his whole body tense, glistening, arching in the air, before he hit the ground, effectively smashing Batista's face.

It really was incredible and John found himself staring once more into the victorious Viper's eyes, the limp and unmoving body of the Animal on the floor between them, bleeding profoundly from a gap between his teeth.

The Viper's eyes were blown wide with adrenaline, his muscles moving restlessly beneath the grey shirt, his head still moving from side to side. John saw Cody and Ted behind Randy, slowly coming closer. When Cody lightly touched their leader's shoulder, the Viper turned around suddenly, arms already in position to strike with yet another R.K.O., his intense anger still flashing in those eyes. In a split second Cody's expression went from almost relaxed to outright shocked, while Ted's arms rose in a defensive gesture, his hands trembling.

An odd look crossed the Viper's face and suddenly it was Randy again, a very shocked Randy, who stared at Cody in utter disbelief. A sickening second of silence passed, and then another. A strange, strangled sound escaped his lips and then Randy ran from the ring as if his life depended on it, not looking back once to see his teammates staring after him both pleading and terrified at the same time.

John couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Randy Orton had almost attacked his own teammates with a RKO.

...

A.N.: What do you think?


	9. Chapter 9

A.N.: A short one, but I am satisfied with it. Hope you enjoy it. Feedback is very, very welcome.

Voices: Chapter 8 - Hiss

He ran.

The night was pitch black and heavy. Thick late summer air was pressing down on the world and even thicker, blueish-black clouds were heralding a thunderstorm already lurking, waiting, conglomerating low above the city.

Randy's feet carried him without him thinking about it. He didn't see where he went, could not think straight and didn't care. He ran, ran as fast as he could, breathing in the warm air that made his lungs feel like they were being filled with cotton and concrete. He ran through that unknown city, through deserted side roads, past empty drug stores and closed bars, through abandoned parks that lay there in the dark in heavy silence, until he reached an abandoned industrial site. Grey factory buildings with smashed windows and faded graffiti remained as last totems of the men that once occupied this complex. Carcasses of cannibalized trucks stood left for rust and decay to play with. Colorless gravel, metal splinters and blunt shards of glass crunched under his feet.

His legs threatened to give out under him, his knees aching, his thighs burning with exhaustion, drops of sweat running down his temples and throat, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone before soaking his shirt. He collapsed somewhere between factory walls, the rough ground biting into his hands and knees. His labored breathing echoed in his ears, the sharp sting in his sides telling him that he had run too far too fast. He had no idea where he was and how exactly he had gotten there and he knew that he would never manage to find his way to the hotel or back to the arena without help. He didn't care, though.

The only image that was occupying his mind was Cody's shocked face, the fear in his eyes, the utter terror he had witnessed in the eyes of the only two people in this whole damned business he actually cared for. He could not believe that he had almost attacked his own teammates.

He had been so worked up, so utterly enraged by Batista, by Cena, by the whole damn situation, by the fact that the Predator kept on talking to him, feeding him his own disastrous past in vile chunks, evoking all these feelings of humiliation and shame and disgust and anger and loss and shattered trust, all those emotions he had tried to put away, to fight off, to shut out. And then, in that ring, it all had overcome him, the pressure had been too much and he had just boiled over, barely controlling his own body anymore. This other side of him, this dangerous half, had taken over, and for a moment he had enjoyed it, had bathed in the incredible feeling of just letting go, of giving in to the burning hate of the Predator, that wrath that ultimately was his own. But then Cody had touched him and for a brief moment, he had not been able to recognize his friends as who they were. All he had seen was what the Predator saw and it had taken a miracle or a fortunate coincidence or whatever it was to get a grip on himself and prevent him from destroying his teammates like he had destroyed Batista. The thought was almost too much to bear and it took all his willpower not to fall prey to the sting in the corners of his eyes. He swallowed thickly.

*See what you did,* the Predator hissed loud and clear inside his mind. Randy groaned in distress and grabbed is head with both hands.  
"You did this!" Randy insisted but even in his head his own voice sounded weak and feeble.  
*This is you now!" the Serpent shouted. *This is you and this is us! That wrath, that strength, that determination, that ruthlessness, that is all us!*  
"It's you, that is not me! I'm not like that! I'm not-!"  
*Beast! Viper! Predator! This is who you are, who we are, what I have always been for you. I am giving you your self! This is our truth.*  
Randy tried to take a calming breath to get a better grip on his wild thoughts.  
"You haven't always been there. I can remember being without you for most of my life. You are lying to me."  
He knew he had said something right because the Predator didn't answer immediately.  
*It is of no importance. I am here now. And I will not leave.*

The menacing sound of thunder rolled through the night as first heat lightning flashed inside the thick clouds.

*You are dangerous,* the Predator continued, less fierce this time. *We are dangerous. Unpredictable. No one is safe with us and no one should be. They made you suffer, all those ones you let close to you, and they will make you suffer again if you let them.*

"No!" Randy yelled, "Cody and Ted are not like that!"  
*They are!* the Predator's voice boomed in his head. He pressed his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to shut it out. *Worthless, pathetic little creatures! They will leave you like the others did! They will hurt you, they will betray you, they will treat you like dirt! I am only trying to protect you!"  
"I won't let you harm them!"  
Randy was desperate. The Serpent had already made him hurt people and had almost succeeded in making him attack his teammates. He feared what the Predator would be capable of with he ever got full control over Randy.

*You will let me harm them,* the Predator hissed. *You will change your mind, when the liars finally reveal their ugly faces.*  
"I will never- Stop this!"  
Randy screamed in the hope of finally getting rid of this voice in his head but he knew that it was to no avail. If anything, the presence within him grew even stronger, tightening its hold around Randy's mind and heart, almost choking them in the process.

*I am a part of you and I will not allow you to be harmed. I will destroy every threat, kill every beast getting too close to you. You are with me now and I won't leave.*  
And Randy knew it was true. There was no way he could get rid of the Predator. He could see no way to weaken his influence on him, to keep him at bay. He knew that, if given the chance, the Serpent would strike and it would not stop until it annihilated every creature posing a threat to them. Although Randy knew he possessed the strength to protect Ted and Cody from any outside threat, he would not be able to shield them from the beast that lurked within himself. He could feel a develish smile on the feral face of the Predator.

*If you really want them safe, you know, what you have to do.*  
Goosebumps rose on his forearms.  
*You must stay away from them.*

...

A.N.: Will Randy do as the Predator tells him? What will happen to Ted and Cody? Will Batista find his missing tooth? And what is John going to do when he sees Randy the next time? ... So many questions. Any suggestions? ;)


	10. Chapter 10

A.N.: I really would like to thank those who stick with me and this story (especially **RKO-flavoured-skittles **and all of you who leave comments on a regular basis). It is rather hard and not very motivating to write if there is no one giving feedback or uttering wishes. I really just want you to have fun with what I write and I am very thankful for every little post.

So, this one is for you guys: Enjoy!

Chapter #9 - Recoiling

"Do you think I can keep it as a trophy?"

After Randy had fled the ring and the audience had slowly started to leave the arena, the medics had taken the bleeding and incoherently mumbling Bastista out of the ring. Left behind were John, JoMo, Evan and, by themselves in one corner of the ring, Rhodes and DiBiase. Evan had bent down and picked something up from the floor. It was Batista's missing tooth, almost square and rather blunt, a little bloody but otherwise perfectly kept.

"What could you possible want with that?" JoMo asked, slightly appalled.  
"Make a necklace out of it. I could go as the crocoile hunter on Halloween," Evan said and grinned.  
"Ugh. Well, do whatever you want," JoMo replied, "but actually you didn't win that trophy, you know that?"  
"I think Orton has other things on his mind right now," Evan said and John had to agree. He looked over at Rhodes and DiBiase, who both looked a bit shell-shocked after the events of the night. Standing closely together in one corner, they looked lost without Randy, almost like two children. Almost.  
"Hey," Evan shouted over to them. "Do you realise now what a jerk you have for a leader?"

John could have prophecised the intense response the small wrestler got. The faces of DiBiase and Rhodes changed from shocked to mad, DiBiase even blowing his nostrils wide as he took a few quick steps forward towards Evan, clearly ready to show what he thought. It was only Rhodes' intervention that stopped any violence from happening. He quickly put his outstretched arm in front of DiBiase's chest. They exchanged a meaningful glance, obviously understanding each other wordlessly.

"Shut your mouth, Bourne," Rhodes said, his voice unusually tight and cutting.  
"Afraid of the truth, he? Be honest with yourself, guys. You know he's mad as a hatter. So much for trusting your leader. Or are you two into him treating you like that?"  
"Evan, let it be," John said pacifyingly, but the damage had already been done.  
"Shut the fuck up!" DiBiase shouted, his voice loud and booming, his face red with anger. "You have no right to talk about him like that! You don't even know him, so take your filthy gossip and beat it!"

Evan stood there dumbfounded and as much as it hurt John, his little friend deserved it.  
John marvelled at the loyalty of the two young Legacy members and how they still had Orton's back even though they were all unsure of what was wrong with the young wrestler, even though Orton- no, the Viper - could have hurt them. John just hoped that this wouldn't turn out to be just like Evolution all over again.

"Evan, JoMo, come on," he said, pushing Evan lightly forward. They left the arena in silence, Rhodes and DiBiase staring after them.  
It was Evan who started talking first as soon as they entered the locker room.  
"I can't believe they still defend this asshole!"  
"Well," JoMo said, a bit calmer than Evan. "It seems like we've been wrong and they do actually like him. For whatever reason."  
"He almost attacked one of them! What sort of a friend does that?"

Evan had a point there, John had to admit that. There was no apparent reason why Randy should have perceived Rhodes and DiBiase as a threat, nothing that should have provoked such a reaction. But there was more to it than that.

"He wasn't himself," John heard himself say.  
"What do you mean?"  
JoMo and Evan looked at him, waiting for an answer.  
"Orton, he wasn't himself. There was this strange expression when he looked at his friends, like he didn't even recognize them, like there was no connection between them at all. Emotionally, I mean. And then, when he almost RKOed Rhodes…"  
John remembered that look in Randy's eyes, the sudden recognition, the disbelief and then that terrified expression.  
"There is something very, very wrong with him."  
Evan laughed heartlessly.  
"Oh, you've noticed that, too!"  
JoMo nudged him in the side.  
"Your cynicism is not very helpful, Evan."  
The small wrestler threw his hands in the air in a frustrated gesture.  
"Oh, please don't tell me you have joined John in his quest to save all the lost souls in the WWE. I couldn't bear to loose another one of you to this futile call."  
"I just got myself a drop-kick to the jaw, Evan. I'm not very keen on seeing Orton any time soon, believe me."

And then their eyes were suddenly back on John, as if they expected him to join the "We all hate Orton"-Crew. Only a few weeks ago the Cenation Leader would have agreed, wholeheartedly, giving an all-dimples smile and a "Fuck you, I'm out of here"-salute into Orton's general direction. But ever since he had noticed all these things, Orton's changing demeanor, his mood-swings, the reclusiveness, the hard expression in his eyes, the explosive violence, the new movements (and - maybe, just maybe and he would never admit that to anyone - that body that John knew so well and yet had never noticed before; that body covered by a small towel, that skin that smelled of bitter orange and rain, that face covered in shadows and light), he felt like he couldn't give up on the mystery that was Randy Orton. He knew, had the distinctive feeling that he had to follow the bread crumbs, had to solve the riddle to prevent worse from happening. Not only because he feared for his friends, for the safety of everyone, but also because he feared for Randy Orton. And that in itself was a strange thought. Where did that come from? And why would he, anyway?

"John? John, are you still with us?"  
It was JoMo, waving a hand in front of John's face.  
"Forget it," Evan said, "he's in his head again, probably plotting how to convince the Care Bears to start treating Orton."  
"Could you at least pretend to be of assistance here, Evan?" John said, although he couldn't really blame his friend for feeling the way he did.  
"Why should I? The guy is nothing but trouble. Worse: He is a tank called trouble in the army of nuisance plowing through the fields of decency!"  
"Didn't we have this conversation before?" JoMo threw in but was ignored by both of his friends.  
John sighed in frustration.  
"You don't understand," he said and tried to stay calm. "He is trouble because he is IN trouble."  
"Oh, and why is that your problem again?"  
John groaned but didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea why this felt like it was his problem too. Maybe because he loved this damn business so much and didn't want to see it destroyed by a rampant reptile. Maybe it was because he wasn't made to see others suffer. Maybe because he could still see the vibrant boy behind the cold facade of Randy Orton. Maybe because he had developed a soft spot- No, scratch that. There was no reason for that assumption, no grounds. Orton was a nuisance, Evan was right about that, and the only thing he could do was not to let that beast go ballistic on more people.

"John, it's not your responsibility, you know?"  
That was JoMo, who put a heavy hand on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture, his voice much calmer than Evan's.  
"I know," John said. "But it feels like it is. I have to find out what's wrong with him. I know that if I don't, even worse things will happen. Hunter and Batista won't be the Viper's last victims if someone doesn't stop him."  
He heard Evan sigh.  
"Why does this someone always have to be you?" the small one asked, his voice no longer full of frustration, but of worry.  
John gave a small, reassuring smile.  
"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Maybe because I can't be any other way."  
JoMo and Evan exchanged a thoughtfull look. Then JoMo gave John a friendly pat on the back.  
"We're with you, John," he said.  
"It's still a stupid idea," Evan added, "to follow that lunatic around. But we're friends and we won't let you down. Just be careful, alright? We don't want you to get RKOed into oblivion."  
"I don't want that either," John replied.  
JoMo put his hands on his hips.  
"Okay, then. What are we going to do next?"

...

The skies had opened up, pouring out a sea of raindrops that fell heavily on his shoulders while thunder and lightning still roared above.  
By the time he got back to the hotel, Randy was completely drenched. His shirt clung to his torso and his jeans were so soaked that it would have made him feel uncomfortable if it hadn't been so utterly unimportant next to all the things that burdened his mind.

He had had no desire to return. He had wanted to stay there in that abandoned industrial site, preferably forever or at least until his flesh had melted into the cracks of the concrete, his bones put to rest there, fading slowly and becoming part of the surrounding bleakness. But the Predator wouldn't let him. He had no strength left to resist the Predator's force when he ordered Randy to stand up and move. Although he had no recollection of the route he had taken to get to that desolate place, the Predator seemed to remember. He had followed the instructions without resistance, his feet shuffling weakly over the ground, his hands holding his own arms in a spiritless embrace. He felt detached from the world around him and tried to keep himself from shattering to pieces. He knew that the apathy he felt was just a herald for the severe breakdown he would have to suffer as soon as he gave in to the turmoil in his chest, those feelings that he tried to press together, to bottle up. He knew that the glass was going to burst soon. He wasn't strong enough to prevent it from happening but he wanted to delay it for as long as possible. He didn't know that this would only make it worse for him.

When he finally reached the hotel, he walked through the entrance hall without taking notice of the odd look the receptionist gave him, nor did he notice the small puddle of rainwater that collected at his feet in the elevator.  
He was so very lost inside himself that he didn't even see the two figures at first. Huddled together on the carpet in front of his room sat Ted and Cody, worry edged unto their faces. When they saw their friend approaching, they jumped up and came closer to him. Randy stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. He felt guilty for the fact that they seemed to have waited for him so long, felt sad because he wanted them close and couldn't do it, anxious because he knew that he couldn't let them come near him, feared for their safety, felt close to crying and screaming but knew that the Predator wouldn't let him, not here and not now. The scaly body coiled tightly around his heart.

"Ran!" Ted and Cody shouted in unison. "Where have you been? We were worried."  
"Don't come any closer!"  
Randy's sharp command cut through the semi-silence of the corridor. The two younger wrestlers froze in place immediately.  
"Ran?" Cody asked. "Ran, what's wrong?"  
Only Randy's heavy breathing echoed over to them.  
"If it's about the fight today, don't worry. It wasn't your fault. You were wound up and I caught you in the wrong moment. These things happen."  
Cody's forgiving words were almost too much for Randy. He felt his throat constricting, almost as if the younger man's words were trying to choke him. He couldn't bear and didn't deserve them.  
*Look at them, these weak puppies. They try not to be afraid of you but they are. They have every right to be.*  
"It won't happen again," Randy said, his voice as tight as the grip of the Predator.  
"Yes, we know. It's alright," Ted said, an insecure smile on his lips. "Come on, Randy. You must be cold."  
"Yes," Randy said, not even feeling the goosepumps on his wet forearms. Cody and Ted seemed to relax a bit, coming even closer to him, the older one aleady stretching out a hand.  
"Come, let's get inside. You should dry yourself up before you catch a cold," Ted said and touched Randy's forearm.

"Don't touch me!"  
As if Ted had burned him with his touch, Randy ripped his arm backwards.  
He looked into the shocked faces of his friends and couldn't bear it, couldn't say what he had to say to them because he knew it would be more painful than he wanted to admit. So Randy retreated into himself, surrendered to the demands of the Predator and gave it enough room to say what needed to be said.  
"Randy, what's wro-"  
"Shut up!"

Looking at them through Randy's cobalt eyes was something terrifying and heartless that was so not their friend that both took an instinctive step backwards.  
"Randy, calm down. What is wrong with you?" Cody asked, obviously confused and frightened.  
"Nothing is wrong with me," the Viper answered. "I don't need you to make such a fuss. I don't want you around."  
"But-"  
"Get lost before I decide to go through with what I started in the ring!"  
Ted and Cody looked at the Viper, completely dumbstruck for a moment. Then Cody spoke:  
"Randy, I don't know what we did to make you this angry but please don't be mad. We're sorry."  
It was all it took for Randy's heart to break and the Predator to explode with rage.  
"I don't want to hear any of your pathetic excuses!" he roared, waking half the hotel. "You are two weak little children I always have to take care of and I am sick and tired of it! You are absolutely useless! Millstones around my neck! I don't even know why I burdened myself with two puppies like you. Worthless crawling creatures! I'll make sure that you won't be able to walk upright ever again if you don't stay out of my way."  
With one last flaming look at them, the Viper strode past them, smashing the hotel room door behind him.

Cody and Ted stood there in complete shock, crushed and unable to move, the younger one with suspiciously glistening eyes.  
"What did we do, Ted?"  
The older one shook his head lightly, eyes wide and unbelieving.  
"I don't know, Cody," he said. "I don't know."

...

Inside the hotel room, the exhausted Predator finally let go of him and recoiled into one corner of his mind. Randy collapsed to the floor, panting heavily as he experienced panic for the first time in his life. His body shook with tremors, a tight, almost unbearable feeling in his chest. He realised what he had done, what he had let the Predator do. He drummed his fists on the carpet but it didn't help to lessen the pressure within his chest, didn't make him feel better at all. He wanted to cry and found that he couldn't. His alter ego, though somewhat retreated, still barred him from expressing his inner turmoil. All he could do was kneel there on the floor, his fists so tight that his fingernails dug into his flesh, little sounds of agony escapting his lips, as he felt himself filled to the brim with guilt, grief, frustration and fear but unable to pour it out, held back by the Predator. Although it was exhausted from the violent outburst, it was still strong enough to force its will onto him.

*This needed to be done,* said the Predator, but its voice seemed to come from far within him, still determined but very silent. *We are without burden now. You should be grateful.*  
One dry, choked sob escaped Randy's lips, just one, and it made him feel even more pathetic.

He had abused the only men that mattered to him, lost the only two people he trusted, send away the only real friends he had ever had in this business.  
*Don't you dare,* said the Predator. *Get a grip on yourself. I freed you! You are with me now. You will not need anyone else.*  
Another silent sob got stuck in his throat. The grief became too much, stronger and stronger, the pressure growing within him. But the Predator wouldn't let him scream, wouldn't let him cry.

He didn't feel his head hitting the carpet when he passed out.

...

A.N.: That was very sentimental and tough to write. I hope that you enjoyed it, though. I would love some feedback and would really be interested to hear how you think this should go on. Anyone interested? :)


	11. Chapter 11

A.N.: Thanks again for your comments!

I really enjoyed introducing Rey and Sheamus at this point, as well as the soon-to-be-Nexus. I am a great fan of Wade Barrett, he's just such a wonderful heel, and Sheamus such a great face.

In this chapter, I tried to explore the potential of John as a character further but I'm still not at the depth here. We'll see how this works out.

Please, let me know what you think. :)

Have fun!

Voices: Chapter 10 - Alphas

The glittering LED-lights of the huge canvas had been shut off. Pieces of Snickers wrapping paper, straws and plastic bottles were lying all around the empty chairs. Somewhere a floor cleaning machine made its way through the arena. Otherwise the corridors were almost completely deserted. It was cold.

John sat alone in the locker room, ready to go but unable to move just yet. It was strange and almost eery how the after-show silence got to him, how it seemed to be much heavier these days. His mind was still stuck in an infinite loop of the events that had transpired in the evening. When his friends had asked him what he wanted to do now, John had had no good answer. What he wanted to do was go out, find Orton and beat (but preferably talk, he was Good Guy Cena after all) some sense into him. But that was not possible, at least not now. Orton had gone missing and in the state he had been in, John was sure the Viper had not returned to the hotel immediately. He was nowhere to be found backstage either and John wondered where Randy had gone in the awful state of mind he must have been in. And even if Randy had returned to his hotel room, John was positive that he wouldn't want to have any late-night visitors, least of all John Cena. He remembered their last hotel encounter and shivered slightly, a strange but not entirely unpleasant feeling. Because he instinctively felt that this trail of thought would lead into dark and dangerous waters that he didn't even want to test, he pushed this pleasant sensation away from him. It wasn't far though.

He looked at his watch and sighed. JoMo and Evan had decided to leave already but he had promised them not to keep on brooding and meet them in a local bar later on. He didn't really feel like going but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he didn't show up. It was time. Grabbing his bag and keys he headed out to his car.

...

The bar was stuffed with people. Music was playing, a terrible excuse for a metal band. It was loud and close, the air thick with the smell of booze and deep-frying fat. Some guys at the bar were smoking, but nobody seemed to care.  
John found Evan and JoMo sitting somewhere at a table, beer already in front of them. To his surprise, Sheamus and Rey Mysterio were there as well.

"Hey, is this the meeting of the Wrestlers Anonymous?" John joked, grabbing himself a chair.  
"Johny, there you are! We already thought you wouldn't show up anymore," Evan said.  
"I promised, didn't I?" John replied. "So, what's the rally all about? Not that I mind but I didn't expect you here," he said with a nod towards Rey and Sheamus.  
"Very happy to see ya too, fella," Sheamus joked with a broad smile on his face. John liked the Great White. The Celtic Warrior always had fun in the ring and outside as well, genuine, honest fun, and John liked people in whom he couldn't find a single dishonest bone. The same was true for Rey; a true fighter with a great heart, and an especially soft spot for his younger fans.  
"We just thought it would be a good idea to hang out a bit, you know," Rey said. "It's been a stressful week and we hadn't had a drink together in over a month."  
"True," John answered and ordered a beer.

"I wouldn't drink that, if I were you, pal," Sheamus said.  
"Why not?"  
"Because Monty Python were right: American beer is like making love in a canoe. - Fucking close to water."  
John grinned.  
"Culturally prejudiced, aren't we?"  
"Nah," Sheamus answered. "Just honest."  
He looked at the pale liquid in the bottle before him and sighed dramtically.  
"I just miss the real deal sometimes."  
"Missing Ireland?" Evan asked. "Well, why don't you sing a song then?"  
They all looked at him puzzled.  
"How many of those did you already have, Evan?" John asked, pointing at the little man's almost empty bottle.  
"Not 'nough. You can't get drunk on this squirrel piss," Sheamus said.  
Evan ignored them.  
"I thought you Irish guys always start singing when you're sad or drunk… or both."  
"Who's culturally prejudiced now?" Rey grinned.  
"Since you're such an expert on Irish customs, pray tell me what I shall sing about?" Sheamus asked Evan, who shrugged his shoulders.  
"You know, the usual: Lasses and stout and turf and some guy named Paddy who owns a boat."  
Sheamus roaring laughter echoed in the room and made a few men near the bar almost topple off their stools from fear. He held up his beer to Evan. Their bottles clinked together.  
"And I thought you St. Louisans didn't have any humor!"  
"Speaking of which-"  
Rey looked over at John and suddenly the atmosphere was tense. John felt like all the men at the table knew what was coming.

"Why did you pull that stunt today?"  
John looked at Rey puzzled. "Stunt?"  
"Why did you follow Orton into the ring?"  
John looked at Evan and JoMo but before he could say anything, Rey kept on talking:  
"They have nothing to do with me asking you. I saw it backstage and even if I didn't, the whole locker room talks about the fight."  
Rey looked worried and it made John feel very uneasy. They both respected each other very much and had shared a lot in the last years. Rey knew how John worked.  
"John, that was madness. Evan and JoMo weren't in Orton's way, nothing would have happened to them. If Legacy has problems with Bastista and the whole rest of Evolution, its none of your business. I don't want to see you hurt, just because some of the boys can't get a grip on themselves."  
"That's not it," John said, rolling the bottle back and forth between his palms. "I think there's something wrong with Orton."

And then he began to tell the whole story, how he had noticed the first signs in the younger wrestler, what he had seen when Triple H had been injured, what the ex-Evolution leader had told him, how he had met the Viper for the first time at the hotel and what they had talked about just before Batista had busted the match between Legacy and his friends. Rey and Sheamus listened attentively.

"I think we need to help him," John finished his account.  
Evan snorted.  
"We need to stop him, you mean."  
"I hope that's the same thing."  
John felt a knot somewhere in his stomach. Talking about Randy had become difficult and he didn't know why. He became rather defensive and he wasn't quite sure what that feeling wanted to tell him.

"A lot of things make sense now," Sheamus said. They looked at him expectantly.  
"You know how General Management always puts me in the same hotel as Legacy? God knows why-" Sheamus said.  
"Why don't you complain about it?" JoMo asked curiously.  
Sheamus laughed, but it was rather sarcastic. "I did but they told me how life wasn't all bikkies and milk and that was it."  
"That sucks, man," Evan said and gave Sheamus a pat on the shoulder.  
"So you are usually in the same twohundred-whatnot room hotel as Legacy. And?" John asked anxious to hear what the Celtic Warrior had to say.  
"And-" Sheamus continued, "as chance would have it, I overheard a conversation just an hour ago."  
John straightened in his seat and lent over a bit. Rey caught the expression of renewed attention in John's eyes, the glint that was a bit too eager, but he didn't say anything. He knew a better time would come.

"Well, what did you hear?" John asked.  
Sheamus and the others lent over as well. They must have looked like a secret organisation plotting a conspiracy.  
"As I was going up to my room, I saw Rhodes and DiBiase sitting in front of Orton's door, obviously waiting. Then Orton turned up. Dripping wet like Vickie Guerrero's underwear when she sees Dolph Ziggler."  
"Urgh," JoMo said, obviously grossed out. "That was the most tasteless comparison I've ever heard."  
"Then we should go out together more often," Sheamus said. "I got loads of them."  
"So he was soaked, we get it."  
Sheamus looked at John with a raised eyebrow.  
"Eager, are we? Anyway, so Orton stood there, dripping, just coming out of the rain. He must have been out there for quite some time. Looked awful, that fella."  
The knot in John's stomach tightened a bit.  
"DiBiase and Rhodes tried to talk to him. I didn't catch everything-"  
"You eavesdropped?" asked Rey.  
"Well, not exactly. As I said, I didn't hear anything until Orton started shouting."  
JoMo furrowed his brow. "Shouting? At Rhodes and DiBiase?"  
"Yeah, I was surprised too. Okay, they do have their rows from time to time and Orton isn't probably the nicest stable leader but I thought they were getting along quite well."  
"They must, Rhodes and DiBiase were defending him tonight after all," Evan said.  
"Don't forget that Randy came into the ring to protect them. He must feel some sort of responsibility towards them, too, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered," Rey added for consideration.  
"Well, whatever there was between those three, it's surely gone now," Sheamus said. "Orton told them to get lost and leave him alone. Quote: 'You are millstones around my neck. Worthless crawling creatures. I'll make sure you'll never walk again if you don't stay out of my way'."  
There was stunned silence for a few seconds.  
"Geez, man. Sounds like the end of Legacy," Rey said.  
"Lucky us," Evan commented and took another sip from his beer.

As JoMo, Evan, Rey and Sheamus were discussing the impact of this possible split-up, John sunk into himself. He blamed himself for not going after Randy. He had no clue on what he could have said to make things all right but he couldn't stop thinking that maybe - just maybe - he could have prevented this from happening. But then again, Evan was right: If Legacy had become history, then a lot of trouble would be avoided in the furture. On the other hand, John couldn't get rid of the feeling that Randy - no the Viper - had begun to systematically isolate Randy from the rest of the world. Not that that in itself was a terribly difficult task: Randy had never been a people person. And because of that John feared that the separation from Rhodes and DiBiase, the only company he had accepted for more than one match since his days with Evolution, would have a severe and bad impact on Randy.

The door of the bar flung open wide and several men came in, their heavy feet stomping unduely on the boarded floor.  
"Oh, fuck," Evan commented and John couldn't have agreed more.  
Follwing his sharp and dented nose, Wade Barrett stepped up to the bar, followed by Heath Slater, Darren Young, Justin Gabriel and David Otunga. They were all wearing matching leather jackets and looked rather silly in them, as John thought.  
"Beer for my boys," Barrett said in his heavy accent. "And get me some chips."  
The bartender looked oddly at Barrett.  
"He means fries," Young said and got himself a dark look from Barrett. It was pretty clear to John who was the leader of their little bunch.

It took the staff only seconds to get five bottles in front of the five men, anxiety written all over their faces. A lot of guests in the bar were looking at the newcomers with a mixture of disapproval, uneasiness and apprehension. Everyone knew that these men were trouble.

Barrett let his gaze wander and John knew what was going to happen: As soon as Barrett would lay eyes upon them, things would heat up pretty quickly.

On occasions like these, John hated it when he was right.

Their eyes met. First, there was malicious silence between them, just staring at each other, hating each other from afar. Then, rather suddenly, a charmless smile appeared on Barrett's face.  
"Look who's there!" he shouted, "The Plain Gang Soldier. Oh, and look! He's got Beaker and the chipmunks with him!"  
Barrett's goons laughed.  
"Leave it, Barrett," John said loud enough for everyone to hear. "We're here to have a beer and a chat and no intention of engaging in any pitiful brawl you want to start. So, if you could please leave us in peace."  
John knew that his attempt would be in vain but he at least had to try and show his good will. Barrett, however, didn't seem too eager to follow him in his reasoning.  
"Told you boys, Cena's a chicken! Buck buckbuckbuck buck!"  
Barrett's attempt at getting him worked up was pathetic and John didn't feel insulted at all. After having had feuds with many of the greatest bigmouths in WWE, a lousy chicken impression didn't do anything for his aggression level at all. However, he knew that the calm part of the evening was over, and so did his friends.  
"Come on, boys. Let's call it a day. Early start tomorrow," Rey said and stood up. The others followed his example. They were almost out of the bar, when Barrett spoke again.  
"That was quite a scene today, don't you think?"

John stopped dead in his tracks and turned around.  
"What do you mean?"  
He could hear Barrett smile as the Brit was leaning against the counter casually, a bottle in his hands.  
"You know, how you almost shat yourself in front of Orton. Gosh, that man has become a deranged one-man-freakshow."  
Where the chicken-joke hadn't worked, the insult directed at Randy did. John was furious and didn't even know why exactly. It was still Randy Orton they were talking about, not Evan, not JoMo, not Rey or anyone else he cared about. So why was he standing there, hands balled into tight fists, teeth clenched and chest tight?  
Barrett went on: "I don't think that after tonight his boys will be too eager to stay with him. And with Legacy out of the way, the time is right for a new stable."  
"If you think you and your little bunch of parvenus can set up a new stable, you really are as delusional as you sound," Rey shouted, gripping John's arm.  
"Parve-what?" Slater said and sounded as confused as his friends looked. Only Barrett seemed to have understood.  
"Just wait and see, little man! Soon we'll start something that will be much, much greater than anything that was before. You'll see - and feel - it soon enough."  
"Is that a threat?" Evan asked, his voice unusually loud.  
"No," Barrett said, his grin wide, "that's a promise."

...


	12. Chapter 12

A.N.: Uuuhhhh, it's getting exciting.

Have fun!

Voices: Chapter 11 - On the prowl

They had travelled South. John was used to higher temperatures and usually had no problems with warmth, but the humidity and heat was getting to him every time they came down here for a show. There was a thin layer of condensed water in the corners of the bus windows as they were driving to the arena. The trip had become increasingly silent as the heat began to grow and John knew that this sort of weather made lots of his collegues additionally aggressive. He knew that this Monday Night Raw could turn from an Entertainment program into a butcher's shop in no time. He had to be extra careful.

In the backstage area, the air was tense, and it wasn't just because of the weather. Barrett and his thugs had been prowling and lingering in the background everywhere, as if they tried to spy on each and every WWE superstar, spotting weaknesses, analysing, taking notes. John had the distinct feeling that Barrett would turn his words into action this very night but had no idea what the Brit had planned. John didn't like it when thinks seemed to be so beyond his control and he hated it when everything he could do was just sit and wait for the storm to approach. But that wasn't the only thing that occupied him.

Randy had not turned up the whole week. It was like the man had vanished without leaving a trace and nobody, not even General Management, seemed to have a clue where he had gone. After having heard of Orton's break-up with Legacy, and especially after remembering everything that had changed in the tattooed youngster, John was worried, deeply worried. He just couldn't help it. He knew that others saw it on his face, too, that Evan was annoyed and JoMo concerned, and he had seen the strange way Rey looked at him since their conversation at the bar. Rey hadn't said anything yet but John was sure that there was something his friend hadn't brought up yet and he was sure that whatever it was, he wouldn't like the conversation too much when Rey decided to raise the matter.

As John went through the corridors of the arena to get to the cafeteria, he saw DiBiase and Rhodes standing in front of Legacy's locker room. While the son of the Million Dollar Man looked worried to the brink of being pissed, - his face tense and stony-, Rhodes had an almost desperate look on his face. The young wrestler checked his mobile phone again and again and John didn't need anyone to tell him what he was hoping for. When he passed them, the two young men looked at him with a strange mixture of emotions John couldn't quite identify.

In the cafeteria he grabbed himself a shake and looked around. He spotted Rey sitting together with Evan, having an intense conversation about gardening over a bowl of gazpacho.  
"- we had the most wonderful tomatoes this year. All fresh and it didn't take too long growing them. You should try."  
"Ah, the soil in our backyard seems to be too acidic or something. Nothing really grows there, you know. Except for these God-damn azaleas. I usually spent the whole summer cleaning the patio."  
"Have you tried-"  
"Well, what a wonderful sight to behold: Two of the most beautiful ladies in town chit-chatting away. Any new developments in the area of housewifery?"  
"Oh, look Rey," Evan retorted and pulled at John's purple Cenation Shirt, "John has found his favourite dress again. You know, John, violet really suits your baby-blues. But where did you put all the lace?"  
That earned Evan a light smack in the neck as the men were laughing together.

"So," John said as he was sitting down, "any news about the matches yet?"  
"Yup," Rey answered. "I'm going to have a match with Swagger later on and it seems like Evan and JoMo earned themselves a tag team match against Slater and Gabriel."  
"Uh, that's not good," John commented. "They're up to something, I can feel it."  
"Yeah, I know," Evan said, "they were lurking around our locker room the whole day. I wonder what they think they can gain from that."  
"Intimidation as a means to gain a psychological advantage?" Rey mused.  
"If that's what they tried, they're not very good at it."  
"Just be careful," John reminded him. "Where is JoMo, by the way?"  
Evan laughed. "Flirting with the Divas. Again."  
"Well, good for him," John said smiling and downed his shake. "Anything in for me today?"  
"GM said you should go and do commentation for the tag team match. You know, assessing the youngsters' potential."  
John snorted. "Yeah, the potential to wreak havoc."  
"They haven't done anything yet," Rey reminded him.  
"I know, but I can't get rid of the feeling that tonight is going to be a disaster."  
"Yeah, it is going to be one but certainly not because of the two rookies," Evan said. "Ziggler wanted a match against Orton and Vicky got him one."

John looked at his friends in disbelief.  
"He demanded a match against Randy? After what happened to Hunter and Batista?" he asked. "How stupid or arrogant or suicidal do you have to be to get yourself into something like this?"  
"I don't know," Evan said. "Talking of suicidal: Just promise me one thing, John: Don't interfere."  
The Cenation leader raised his eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you tend to see fairies where others see monsters?" Evan replied. "You have this tendency to get yourself into trouble because you want to help others. That's fine as long as people appreciate what you are doing for them. But both Ziggler and Orton are head to head when it comes to winning the award of who is the most arrogant, ungrateful dickhead of the year. And that is why you shouldn't bother, not this time. Alright?"

John thought about that for a moment. Naturally, he would not interfere in a match like this: He didn't like the Show Off Ziggler and he definitely wouldn't mind if that conceited peacock would get his feathers plucked. And after having seen Orton recently, John knew that Ziggler wouldn't stand a chance.

But he had interfered when Orton had tried to bring down Batista and since none of his friends had been in danger, John still wondered why he had done that. Maybe Evan had very good reasons to tell him to keep out of this after all. Maybe he really wasn't good at deciding when it was time to stay out of other people's business. But then again, he felt like all this - WWE, fair matches, feuds, Orton, the Viper - was his business. He felt responsible, maybe because nobody else did.

John looked at Evan. The small wouldn't understand, so there was no point in upsetting him further. He would promise him and it would be a lie: John would intervene whenever he thought it necessary until this mystery was solved. He just couldn't do it any other way.  
"You're right," he said. "I'll try and stay out of this."  
Evan smiled.  
"Good. I like you in one piece, you know. Not that you need to fear many wrestlers around here, but loons like Orton are unpredictable."  
John looked at Rey who shot him this meaningful glance yet again, that gaze that told him that the small man was able to look right through his charade and see the truth behind it. And John had the very definite feeling that even he himself didn't know all sides of that truth.  
"Yeah, they are," John said, rubbing the upper part of his belly nervously. "But maybe the match isn't going to take place. Orton hasn't turned up yet."  
"Probably still afraid of getting his ass kicked by his ex-stable mates," Evan guessed. "Would suit me if he didn't turn up again."  
"We'll see tonight," Rey said, still looking at John, the exchange between them loaded with something the Cenation leader wasn't able to put his finger on. "Let's just hope that nobody does anything stupid."

...

_You have no new messages_  
Cody shut his mobile with the force of frustration. A bit more and the plastic would have cracked.  
"Still nothing?" Ted asked. Cody shook his head.  
"Damn."  
They were in their locker room, Ted sitting on one of the benches staring at the empty space where Randy would have sat while preparing for his match. Cody stood in the middle of the room, occasionally moving back and forth, breathing nervously, worry etched so deeply on his face that it would surely leave marks.  
"You don't think he'd do anything stupid?" the younger one asked.  
Ted smiled heartlessly. "No, not Randy. Definitely not Randy. Why would he?"  
"I don't know," Cody said, frustration seeping into his voice. "I know that he's not the type to be found dead in a hotel room with a shotgun under his chin, but-"  
Cody sighed.  
"He's changed so much. The Ran I know would never do something to himself, but the Ran I know wouldn't have exploded like that on us either and he wouldn't have left because he would know that we'd worry. He did all that! I called his father and not even Bob knows where he is! If he has changed that much, I don't know what else he's capable of."  
Ted nodded.  
"I know. But that's Randy we're talking about here. We shouldn't assume the worst. He was upset when he left, - very upset -,but not devastated. He seemed stressed lately. Maybe he just needs some time and space to sort himself out. He's a grown man and he knows what he's doing."  
"Are you sure about that?" Cody asked, not only voicing his own doubts but also Ted's as well.  
"No, I'm not. After the past few weeks I'm not sure about anything anymore. I thought that after beating Triple H like that, Randy would get back his old self-esteem, become a bit more balanced."  
"Didn't work out, did it?"  
Silence.  
"Do you think Cena knows?" Cody asked. "I mean, the way he looked at Ran when he took down Batista… I think he knows that something is up with Ran."  
"Everyone knows. Randy stopped being subtle after a while, don't you think?" There was sarcasm in Ted's voice but the bitterness was just a symptome of the growing frustration he felt. "Look, even if Cena knows more than anyone else, he certainly doesn't know more than we do. …And even we know practically nothing."  
"Cena...," Cody mused. "No one else apart from us cares about what happens to Randy. Only Cena seems to be …I don't know. Different? He didn't try to knock Randy out. He talked to him back in the ring last week."  
"He won't be able to help, Codes. Randy wouldn't want that. And you know how stubborn Ran can be."  
Another round of silence.  
"Do you think he'll come?" Cody asked.  
"To a match with Ziggler? He wouldn't miss the chance to kick that arrogant poser's teeth in," Ted said, the first genuine smile of that day appearing on his face.  
"And what do we do when he turns up? Do you think he's still mad at us?"  
The smile fell.  
"I don't know, Cody," Ted answered. "I really don't know."

...

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"  
Vicky's high-pitched voice cut through the silence of the office. Her boyfriend's blonde head was trown back as she massaged his shoulders. He liked to sit in her chair and she didn't mind. It was still her's after all.  
"Why shouldn't I?" Dolph asked, chewing on some pink gum. "I'm going to step into that ring, take that weirdo out and then I'll buy you dinner."  
Vicky smiled.  
"That sounds lovely, Dolphy," she said. "But aren't you…concerned after what happened to Triple H and Batista?"  
Dolph laughed and chewed a bit louder.  
"Actually I am even more excited. Just think about it, Vicky: If I knock Orton out, I'll have beaten the guy who smashed the face of the great Triple H and struck down the mighty Animal. I'll be finally recognized as the best wrestler in the whole damn business and all I have to do is to make the referee count 1-2-3 on that freak."  
"Yeah, freak seems to be the right word," Vicky agreed. "I don't know why but since that match against Hunter, that boy gives me the creeps."  
"Oh, don't you worry, darling," Dolph said, pulling her onto his lap. "Everything will be just fine. I'll put the sicko to sleep with a Zig Zag and afterwards we're having lobster and champagne."  
Vicky giggled girlishly.

...

The small room was crowded with seven bulky men, all dressed in the same black shirt, except for two of them.  
"Why don't we wear these?" Heath Slater asked, pulling his longish red hair behind his right ear. He stood next to Justin Gabriel, both wearing just their usual ring gear. They felt rather naked next to their impressively unified mates.  
"You will get your shirt, don't worry. We don't want everyone to know so soon."  
That was Wade Barrett. He wore the same black shirt as the others, a huge yellow N displayed in the middle.  
"Go out there and give them a good scrub, if you get my drift. Cena will be commenting. I'd love to hear what he as to say."  
"But I thought you didn't like Cena," said Darren Young, obviously confused. Sometimes Barrett asked himself why he put up with these daft kids.  
"Irony, Darren," Justin said.  
"Oh."

Wade gave them a scrutinizing look.  
His little army looked impressive, at least if one tried to ignore Darren's hair.  
"Tonight," Wade said, "we're going to make history."  
Nods of approval.  
"We're going to do away with these decrepit rams, the Triple Hs and the Brett Harts, the Kanes and the Undertakers."  
The nods became more emphatic.  
"We're going to smash these useless princes who stole the crowns that were never theirs, the Cenas and Punks and Jerichos."  
A chorus of approval.  
"We're going to start a new era," he said, voice deep and eyes flashing with cold ambition. "This will be the reign of the Nexus."

...

They had been alone together for some time now. He had completely lost track of time but he was here, it was Monday, it was time for RAW. After having woken from his blackout, the Predator's presence had been even stronger than before, telling him how he was good and well and not alone, despite the awful pain he was feeling. It told him that they should leave, go away from the others. It said, if he left, the pain would as well. And surpirsingly it did. After a few hours (or days? He didn't know...) alone with the Predator, out there between motels and bars, woods and parks, deserted streets and highways, cars and trucks and motorbikes, faceless women and men who were all the same, he had felt pleasantly numb, a feeling that he cherished after the turmoil of the past days. And for a while he forgot about what had happened.

And after the numbness came something new, constructed within him by the foreign force of the Predator, a structure of determination and strength, something that felt cool and sharp within him, like an armature, the scaffolds of a sculpture holding him up. And within the harsh resulteness and the cold majesty of that construct was his heart, locked within the dry embrace of the Predator, concealed from Randy and all the world.

*It is time.*  
"Yessss."

A.N.: Comments? Thoughts? Wishes? Please, let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

A.N.: Sorry, this one took a bit longer. I seem to suffer from writer's - not block but... - problems at the moment. Any suggestions that may help are welcome. ... As are your comments. ^^

Voices: Chapter 12 - Out of the den

The crowd was wild this evening, the heat not only pushing the wrestler's emotions but also the mood of the crowd. The fans were shouting loudly, their cheers echoing in the sweaty air of the arena. Backstage, the mood was taut. All wrestlers huddled around the few monitors to see the matches but John knew that they weren't waiting to see Rey or Swagger or even him: Everyone was waiting for Ziggler's match, wondering whether his opponent would turn up.

The first matches of the evening were rather uneventful considering the cirumstances. Rey beat Swagger with a beautifully executed 619 and John felt bad about not being able to appreciate the performance as much as he would have done under normal circumstances. But even while watching the match, he found himself looking over to the entrance doors, expecting, hoping, that maybe Randy would turn up in that very moment. He didn't know why exactly he wanted that to happen - after all, Randy hadn't been very nice to him, neither recently nor ever - but didn't want to ponder the fact too much. There were dangerous pathways in one's mind and to follow them would lead him unto dangerous, unknown territory.

When Ted DiBiase and Cody Rhodes entered the arena, the level of tenseness increased slightly, all wrestlers backstage watching the scene becoming more attentive, as if they expected to see the former Legend Killer with his team mates. They were disappointed.

DiBiase had gotten himself a match against Damien Sandow, not a real threat to the Legacy member, John thought. But both, DiBiase and Rhodes, seemed unfocused, and the son of the Million Dollar Man had more problems taking on Sandow than he should have had. It was Rhodes who saved DiBiase in the end, taunting Sandow from ring side, distracting his team mate's opponent. One Cobra clutch legsweep and Sandow was done. Rhodes and his friend left the arena hurriedly and vanished backstage, their faces unreadable.

"Hey, did I miss something?"  
It was Rey, who had just taken a quick shower after his match.  
"Just DiBiase delivering a miserable performance," JoMo said. "These boys have lost their balance."  
"Doesn't surprise me," Evan responded. "Without Orton they are missing a vital part of their group. It's like cutting a chicken's head off."  
John chose not to comment on Evan's choice of imagery. For him it was much more than just two young wrestlers lost without their leader: He had seen the horrified, lost and haunted looks on their faces, the worry. Although he still felt that Orton surely wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, these two young men were not only his stable mates but also his friends. However that had happened.

"I think Ziggler and Orton are next," Sheamus said, arms folded in front of his chest.  
"Well, that's gonna be interesting," JoMo said.  
Evan laughed. "Or not, in case only one of them shows up."  
"Ah, fella: It ain't over till the fat lady sings."  
Evan made a strange grimace.  
"God, please! Hide the mics! I don't want to hear Vicky singing!"  
"Speak of the devil..."

Ziggler's music set in, a loud "I Am Perfection" ringing through the speakers. Mild applause, few cheers, whistles and boos accompanied him and Vicky Guerrero into the arena. Ziggler swayed his hips to the music, showing off his butt while smoothing his greasy hair behind his ears.  
"Vain bastard," JoMo said. Everyone looked at him and his perfect locks with raised eyebrows and decent smirks. "What?"  
"When was the last time you checked yourself in the mirror, Jo?" Rey asked. JoMo rolled his eyes.  
"That is not the same thing."  
"If you say so..."

Ziggler had reached the ring and was handed a microphone by Vicky.  
"WWE Universe, listen to me!" he said, a shiny grin in place. "In the past weeks we have been witnesses to a strange and unnatural shift of power relations in this very ring. An unlucky kid turned into a grim beast and wreaked havoc on Monday Night Raw. The mighty Triple H and the Animal Batista became the victims of a lunatic, a man who lost his mind because he was not fit enough for competition. This man is a serious threat to all WWE superstars, to the safety of everyone in- and outside of this ring, a usurper of power, power which does not belong in his hands, and Hunter and Batista wouldn't be the last to fall prey to that crazed man's appetite, if it wasn't for one man..."  
Ziggler added a dramatic pause.  
"Me."

"Oh, please!" Evan said in a mocking tone. "Look at him, all that melodrama. If he's going to continue like that, they'll offer him a part in Y&R."  
Rey nodded. "He is much too proud and sure of himself for his own good. If he doesn't watch it, he'll get himself into deep trouble."  
"He already did," John said.  
"You sound pretty sure of that," JoMo reckoned. John just looked at him with an enigmatic expression on his face.

In the ring, Ziggler went on:  
"I am going to beat that freak, I will destroy the beast and climb the food chain to take my rightful place on top. Randy Orton, listen to me! If you can use what little sanity you have left in that deranged head of yours to look inside yourself and if you still find an ounce of honor there, then you'll come out here and fight me, man against maniac. Come here and be put in your place! I'm calling you out, freak!"

He let the microphone fall in a violent and dramatic gesture and put his fists on his hips, watching the huge LED canvas above for any sign of Orton appearing. The crowd cheered somewhat cautiously, not sure what would happen, not sure what to expect. The intense atmosphere backstage mirrored the mixed feelings of the fans. Five seconds passed, ten seconds, fifteen.  
"I knew it. He's not going to show up," Evan said, partly feeling vindicated, partly disappointed. It would have been a hell of a match.  
While the wrestlers around him started to exchange all sorts of speculations about Orton, John still watched the screen in front of him intendly. A strange anticipation was growing inside him.  
"Orton's probably hiding somewhere," Evan speculated. "Not so tough without his goons anymore."  
"Nah, he wouldn't have missed this on purpose," Sheamus argued. "He must be in trouble somewhere."  
"That man is trouble incarnate," JoMo said. "Very unlikely he's held back by something or someone."

Red light drenched the arena as white flashes illuminated stage and ring and an unknown music rang through the arena, unfamiliar lyrics echoing in thousands of ears.

I hear voices ...

And then the Viper stepped into the arena. With graceful, slow steps he moved up to the ring, his expression dispassionate except for that sinister glint in his eyes. John felt like someone had just dropped a bucket of ice water down his spine. Something about the young man's demeanor - the eery fluidity of his movements, the flashing eyes, or how he bared his teeth just once for the briefest of moments - was fear-inspiring in a way that John had never experienced before. After looking around in the room, he was sure that everyone else could feel it as well.

… my savior

Contradicting every boastful remark he had made only a minute ago, Ziggler stood in the middle of the ring and rather suddenly didn't look that confident any more. He tried to hide it behind a face that constantly switched from his trademark show off grin and something that could have been angry determination if he hadn't been so phased by Orton's sudden appearance.

… darkness falling

Orton approached and stepped into the ring, his movements deliberate and confident, like a stalking animal. He glanced over at Ziggler with a look of pure contempt before turning his back towards his opponent. The Viper stepped unto the second robe in one of the corners of the ring and looked into the distance. As the music reached a new peak in intensity, the wrestler threw his arms into the air and leaned back slightly, exposing himself completely in a display of utter dominance, closing his eyes slowly for an exquisite moment.

…they talk to me

"That is..." Rey started but didn't seem to be able to find the right word.  
"Strange? Deranged? Weird? Arrogant?" Evan tried to help out.  
"I wanted to say 'new' but I think I'll stick with 'interesting' for the moment," Rey answered.  
"Interesting?" Evan asked. "Man, you'll probably get a Slammy for the Understatement of the Year! Use your eyes! Where is the arrogant cocksure trademark-smirk? Where is this Burn-In-My-Light-Shit? I always thought his ego couldn't get any bigger but now I definitely see an attitude that needs adjustment."  
They looked to John, who suddenly felt rather uncomfortable in his skin. Again. He decided not to comment. Instead, he looked back at the screen where he could see the Viper stepping down from the ropes. The tall youngster began to walk around his opponent in slow circles, never fully facing Ziggler, acutely aware of his opponent. John saw the blondes face and knew instantly that the Show-Off tried not to look as intimidated as he actually felt.

The sound of the bell rang through the air as the referee opened the match.

Dolph got into position, bending his knees, hopping up and down a few times, arms raised, ready for dealing out the first blow. However, a look of confusion crossed his face as he watched his opponent: Orton looked into the distance for a few seconds, eyes clouded over, absent somehow, yet still physically aware of what was around him. Dolph was able to feel it, the hidden anticipation in his opponent's body. Whatever other wrestlers said about him, the Show-Off wasn't stupid. He had seen what had happened to Triple H and Batista, he had seen it all on tape, had calculated the way Orton held himself against strong opponents, had seen the insane changes but also how the boy fought in general. He knew his opponent and he had thought that taking out a boy who must have had suffered a very recent mental meltdown couldn't be that difficult. But standing in front of said boy suddenly changed Dolph's view on that. Somehow Orton' whole body posture and facial expression gave him the creeps, something that couldn't be transported over TV screens. Then, suddenly, Orton turned his head ever so slightly, a sinister smile gracing his features, two rows of blinding white teeth flashing beautifully, dangerously. And as two greyish orbs froze him with their icy stare, an instinctive and devastating realisation finally hit home: he would not be fighting a weakish maniac. He would be fighting a monster.

John watched as all of the sudden Ziggler dashed forward and kicked Randy to the stomach before grabbing him from behind in a tight headlock, bringing the young third-generation-wrestler to his knees. John knew from experience that such a maneuvre could bring about a decision at any time, even when used early on in a match. The constriction, the feeling of not being able to breathe was terrible and often devastating. He had seen men pass out from the lack of oxygen several times and Ziggler especially was known for being extra brutal when it came to headlocks. With his free left hand, he pulled Randy's arm backwards with a strong grip until the tattooed limb was drawn back in an almost unnatural angle. Ziggler laughed hysterically and John knew why: Randy's history of shoulder injuries was well known.

"Pity," Evan said.  
"Hm?"  
"That this is over so quickly," Evan explained. "I would have liked to see a longer match with these two tearing each other apart."  
John looked at Randy's face on the screen, red cheeks and a look of pure concentration in his eyes.  
"It's not over yet, Evan."

In that moment, Randy let go of Ziggler's arm that still tried to throttle him and delivered a fierce blow to the Show-Off's head. Ziggler immediately let go of Randy and stumbled backwards, seemingly dizzy for a few seconds from the surprisingly powerful blow. Randy was up on his feet in no time, sending punch after punch into the blonde's face until Ziggler barely stood on his feet but rather hung in the ropes. Pulling at his arm sharply, Randy forced his opponent to bounce into the ropes at the far end of the ring before having him run into his outstretched arm. As if having crashed against a bar of solid steel, Ziggler fell backwards, his head connecting hard with the mat.

Randy took a deep breath as he towered over his opponent. The booing and cheering and shouting of the crowd was nothing but white noise in the background as he was listening to something deep inside of him.

*Look at him,* hissed the Predator, focussing on the square, blotchy face and the thin lips, the spit that had gathered around his opponent's chin. *Pathetic.*  
"Pathetic," Randy echoed in his mind as the Predator filled him with disgust and anger.  
*He had the audacity to call us out,* the Predator said, coming even closer to the surface. *He called us deranged. He called us a freak. He thought we would be an easy target. He thought we were insane and he thought that made us weak.*  
"I am not weak. And I am not insane."  
*You are as sane as you ever were,* the Predator repeated the words he had already said once before. *You are alright. You are strong. We are strong,* it said. *He wanted to make you suffer. But you are with me now. I will make you strong. We have done this before. You know how it is done. Bite it until it moves no more.*

John saw how the Viper towered over a dizzy Show-Off, head bent, shoulders hunched forward, and obviously contemplating his next move. His head moved slowly from left to right and John watched the expression on the Viper's face with fascination. At first, his expression was pensive, almost calm, but soon his lips curled into a disgusted snarl before turning into angry determination, his eyes wide open, his jaw muscles tight. And then there was this flash of teeth again before this eery void expression returned to the Viper's face that gave him the aura of dry ice.

Raising his foot, he began to stomping heavily on Ziggler, methodically, viciously, left shoulder, left knee, left ankle, right ankle, right knee, right shoulder. A stomp on the head was what followed and the blonde poser squirmed and writhed on the mat in pain. As Ziggler tried to pick himself up from the ground, John saw two figures entering the room out of the corner of his eye and took the moment to see who has just come in.

Rhodes and DiBiase stood quietly in the doorway, their eyes glued to the screen. It didn't happen too often that they came to share the viewing of matches with the more amicable wrestlers like Rey and himself. Evan and JoMo shot them wary glances and Sheamus just registering their general existence with a raised eyebrow, but John did not mind the two youngsters being there. At the moment, these two meant to threat to the fragile lockerroom peace, since they were too absorbed in their own problems, too much concerned with finding out what was going on with their (former) team leader.

"John!"  
Rey's cue made him look back to the screen, where Orton had somehow managed to kick Ziggler out of the ring, only to get him back inside in his very own way. Being draped across the second rope, his neck locked in the Viper's strong grip, hands uselessly dangling about, the Show-Off was in deep, deep trouble. Orton had a look of pure concentration on his face, breathing air through his pursed lips before moving his own head around and looking at the referee to count him down. And then he waited patiently.  
"That's so sick," JoMo said.  
Vicky stood next to the ring, shouting, yelling on the top of her lungs, but Randy seemed not to hear her. Only at the last moment did the Viper let himself fall backwards, crushing Ziggler's head on the mat with that DDT. The power and traction on Ziggler's neck must have been enormous. It had looked vicious with what incredible force Randy had took the Show-Off with him.  
"Vintage Orton," echoed Sheamus Michael Cole's comment.  
"Except for the waiting. That is new," Rey said and John nodded. Randy usually did not wait. That man had no patience.  
'But the Viper has,' John thought grimly.  
"Having him there on that rope waiting is torture," JoMo said.  
"The only question is: For whom?" Rey said. "Ziggler looks pretty much out of it but consider what sort of an impact that must have on Vicky."  
"What impact it already has on us," John added thoughtfully, though only listening half-heartedly to the conversation. Most of his attention was dedicated to watching what happened there inside that ring. And what he saw became increasingly disturbing.

...


	14. Chapter 14

A.N.: Thanks to Skittles, who kept me going.

...

Voices: Chapter 13 - Strike

Dolph felt dizzy.

Actually, now that he thought about it, 'dizzy' was an understatement. He felt like Big Show and Mark Henry had decided to perform a two hour Riverdance Revival Show on his head and torso and it didn't feel like the burning ache in his neck and forehead would stop any time soon, nor did the picture in front him want to stop spinning around like a truck wheel. He had been kicked out of the ring and for a second he had blacked out. The next thing he remembered was looking down someone else's legs, while his feet were resting on the ring ropes. And when his wits suddenly returned to him, he had realised that there were strong muscles around his neck holding him in a vice-like grip: a sudden image flashed before his eyes, a memory from when he was five or six; his parents had taken him to the zoo and a zoo keeper cleaning the terrariums had offered him to hold a snake. The sole idea had terrified him but his father had been very enthusiastic and he didn't want to disappoint his old man. When the keeper had draped one of the creatures around his shoulders, Dolph's blood had frozen in fear. The rough, dry skin of the reptile had been beautiful and horrifying at the same time but what had flooded him with this sheer feeling of terror were the muscles underneeth the skin, how they contracted powerfully, seemingly closing slowly around his neck, the inhuman strength barely hidden under the reptile's skin. It had taken his parents almost an hour and an enormous amount of ice cream to calm their shaking and crying son down again.

And then, almost thirty years later, he had been dangling from the second rope in a match against some wrestler (that freak, that _thing_, that horrifying _creature_), and what he had felt was the same experience, the slender muscles of a reptile's body around his neck holding him with a strength unnatural to human beings. But before he had had the chance to embrace the mother of all panic attacks, he was ripped downwards and everything had gone dark again for a few moments.

Now that he was lying on the mat with a developing bump on his forehead which slowly but steadily felt like it would grow into the size of a pineapple, he heard Vicky scream like a banshee and as his eyes were finally able to send a clear picture to his brain, he recognized two black wrestler's boots only a few feet away from his face.

...

Randy was on the brink of losing control.

Boiling blood shot through his veins, adrenalin flooded his body, setting every fibre of his being ablaze. Violent toxins coursed through his system like quicksilver, poisoning his mind and heart.  
He had wanted to hurt Ziggler and in the beginning he had felt cool and composed, very much in control. Getting out of the headlock had been a piece of cake; he remembered times when this had not been the case, when the pain in his shoulders would have been too much for him to bear, but that was before he had become the Viper.

And then the Predator had whispered in his ear, deliberately, seductively, suggesting things he could do to Ziggler, things so vile he almost felt guilty for the pleasure the voice made him feel at its words. Almost. The connection between his own self, the world and his perceptions was frail and thin, like a silk thread that was always threatened to be ripped apart at the Predator's will. The serpent could prevent and evoke emotions within him and Randy knew it. He just couldn't change it. And neither did he want it, at least not when the primal pleasure the Predator fed him was so much better than the guilt and so wonderfully overwhelming. From the vast bouquet of attacks the Preator suggested, he chose what he knew and added what the Predator wanted. It felt good to be in control, oh so good.

But the vicious DDT did not only shatter Ziggler's chances.  
When his back hit the mat, Randy's own grip on himself cracked open, just a bit first, but wider and faster with every second that passed. He felt the Predator's presence growing out of proportion, felt himself break in the serpent's grip, the snake incited as much as him, as the magnified voice of the Predator echoed in his mind a thousand times and madness spread within them.

*Yes!* hissed the voice, loud and clear and more real than the sounds of the crowd around him. *More! More!*  
'He's done,' Randy thought as he felt his control slipping through his fingers. He desperately tried to hold on to it but the Predator's madness grew stronger and Randy had nothing to shield himself from its effects.  
'It's enough,' he said, his own mental voice sounding small and unsteady already, that little resistance he was still able to muster already crumbling.  
*No, not enough!* the Predator yelled. *More! Bite it! Kill it!*  
'Not again, please.'  
He remembered what he had felt when he had hurt Hunter and Batista, the total loss of control, the feeling of letting go, how he had lost himself in the violent vortex, tossed about by the current of wild anger and feral desires.  
*Again! More!* the Predator demanded, growing ever stronger, filling him with rage and insanity. He felt his skin crawling as if scales wanted to break free from under the surface. *Do it! Bite! Bite!*  
A new wave of silver venom shot to his head.  
And again he let go.

...

John saw how Randy moved about the ring nervously like a caged animal, his thighs and biceps quivering with the sheer force to hold back. His face showed a chaotic display of emotions and states of mind - disgust, hate, fear, frenzy, pleasure - each fighting for dominance over the others. Randy threw his head left, right and back, exposing his long throat to the biting light of the arena, his hands running eratically over his face and scalp.

"I think we're witnessing a mental breakdown! Randy has completely lost it!" Michael Cole commented.

And then Randy went still for the briefest of moments and the camera caught his expression: Randy's eyes - once showing his juvenile boasting nature, light and shining with vibrant, youthful energy - were full of madness and wide open, irises glittering like arctic water, pupils contracted, and for a moment John thought they were nothing but slits. It had to be his imagination, though. Since he knew that Randy had turned into someone, something, called the Viper, he couldn't help seeing the signs everywhere.

John felt like he was stuck in an eerie Deja-vu as Randy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body turned around to face Ziggler with one graceful movement. Falling on his hands and knees, the Viper drummed his fists into the mat, once, twice, three times, then, bracing himself on his fists, he ducked his head before stretching his long neck forward, canines (_fangs_, John thought) gleaming dangerously, his face only inches away from his opponent.

And then, slowly, very slowly, the Viper crawled backwards and rose back to his feet and a bad, very bad feeling crept up in John. He turned around to DiBiase and Rhodes.

"What is he going to do?" he asked with an acute urgency in his voice.  
"What?" Rhodes asked, confusion written all over his face.  
"You two know him best. Tell me, what's going on in his mind? What's he up to?"  
John had to know. If his gut feeling was right then Randy would do something horrible to Ziggler and as much as John disliked the blonde Show-Off, he didn't want Randy to do whatever he had in mind. Every other wrestler would have gone for the cover already but Randy had decided against that and John needed to know why.  
Rhodes and DiBiase looked back to the screen where the Viper had retreated in one corner of the ring, eyes fixed on his opponent who struggled to get back up.  
"We don't know," DiBiase said and something in his voice told John that the very fact that they couldn't say frightened them even more than him.

John looked back to the screen and saw the Viper gripping the top robes tightly while leaning forward, the muscles in his shoulders and jaw tight, breathing heavily, eyes flashing with madness. Ziggler slowly managed to get up on his hands and knees and when John saw the perfect diagonal between their two positions in the ring he suddenly knew.  
"No, nononononono!"  
But before he could have run to the ring to prevent it from happening, the Viper dashed forward, two long strides, and hit Ziggler with a punt kick to the head. As if in slow motion, John saw how the Viper's foot connected hard with the blonde's temple, heard the sickening sound of the impact, saw how Ziggler's head was tossed to the left and crashed to the ground again. He stayed there unmoving. Sliding over his opponent's body with one languid movement, the Viper finally went for the cover. Not even Vicky's shrieking could prevent the three-count.

"That punt was completely unnecessary," JoMo stated the obvious.  
"Unnecessary?" Evan said, not loud and accusing as usual, but stating the facts in shock. "It was cruel and heartless and downright evil."  
John just watched the screen. He couldn't believe that Randy had turned his words into action, had done what he had threatened John with some days back at the hotel. He heard these new, prophetic lyrics echoing through the arena as Randy stepped onto the ropes again, raising his arms in utmost confidence, bathing his body in the lights.

…darkness falling  
…voices calling.

And John could not help but feel like he had failed.

...

A.N.: How is this going to go on? Will we have some action between the Viper and Good Guy Cena again? Soon, I promise. Comments? Let me know what you think, please!


	15. Chapter 15

A.N.: I am totally flattered and overwhelmed by your comments. Thanks very much to **Skittlez** (loyal as ever and refreshingly joyful. Good that you still bear with me), **nobledonkey** (I can't wait to find out what Cena will do either... I have no clue yet^^°), our anonymous **Guest** (Dolph was fun to write! Thanks for noticing!) and **boredomdelux**: Special thanks to you, boredomdelux, for fleshing out your opinion so nicely. It is a relief to hear that what I do is enjoyed (AND it is good to know _what exactly_ people like and don't like. I don't want you to get bored with my story...).

This is a smaller chapter, more of an interlude, really, but I wanted to explore the Legacy dynamics a bit further. I recently saw the 2009 Royal Rumble on youtube (my only source) and found it quite interesting how DiBiase and Rhodes tried to get Orton back on track. Cute, really, all this bromance bonding in the ring. A storyline that was killed off too soon for my tastes but then again I always thought that the tag team devision doesn't get enough attention. ... But back to the story. Please let me know what you think!

Voices: Chapter 14 - On the Scent

Nobody noticed them slipping silently out of the room. After witnessing their friend delivering this vicious punt kick to Ziggler's head and after seeing him standing there on the ropes, they needed just one look between them to know that they couldn't stay. They quickly made their way to their own locker room where the silence would have become a heavy burden if not for the faint sounds of the small monitor depicting the now empty ring.

Cody could not believe what they had seen. Randy had always been fierce when fighting, determined and stubborn. It was this last character trait which had often produced a kind of desperation in the young 3rd generation wrestler, a desperation which had led to rash and impulsive decisions. He had seen it in many matches, the fierce youthful fire in Randy's eyes, the foolhardy demeanor produced by the victory of the fear to not be able to prove himself worthy over his own rationality. It had cost him many matches. But now, there was nothing left of this youth, this talented wrestler. There was nothing left of his friend. Instead, Cody had seen an aura of frostiness surrounding Randy when he had stepped into the ring, an icy cold that had transformed into an uncontrolled and unstoppable storm during the match. There had been no desperation, no human feeling in Randy's eyes. All Cody had seen had been a wild, frightening madness that was so not Randy. And Cody feared that they may had lost their friend forever.

Ted was equally deep in thought. He was worried. Not only for Randy but also for Legacy. Randy had made it quite clear that he had no interest anymore in keeping the group together and his impressive victory over Ziggler tonight had proven that he probably didn't need them any longer. Yet at the same time, Ted had the distinct feeling that this was not all there was to it.

"We can't let him go on like this," he said. Cody looked up to him, confusion written over his face.  
"What do you mean?"  
"We always wanted to win, Cody. That was the goal of Legacy. We would go out there and raise hell if need be. And we would be together, watching each others' backs, taking responsibility. As a group. This was us and it was okay because we decided together and we would stop when our goal was reached."  
"Randy doesn't stop anymore," Cody said thoughtfully.  
"Exactly."  
Ted thought back to what they had seen when Randy had taken out Batista for them.  
"Do you remember when he looked at us, in that ring last week? Did you see what happened?"  
Of course Cody remembered. How could he forget the last time he had actually seen their leader and friend? He remembered clearly how Randy had looked at them, an unusually warm, affectionate, brotherly look that told them that everything would be alright. And then, without warning, Randy had vanished and in his stead had been and still was this cruel, cold-blooded …thing. Looking back on that moment, it felt to Cody like Randy's last look had been a farewell.  
"He disappeared," Cody said. "Randy just…vanished. He was there and in the next second-"  
"He was gone," Ted finished. "I don't know what exactly happened to him, but I have the feeling that it started much earlier."  
Ted started walking up and down nervously as they tried to piece the puzzle together.  
"That night after he beat Hunter, he told us about something new."  
Cody nodded. "Yes, I remember. He said something about the Legend Killer being dead and that it was time to evolve."  
"You asked him if he wanted to change his image, new song, new attitude, and that is exactly what happened. That song today? That is a strong statement."  
"And a sick one," Cody added. Ted nodded.  
"If he went out there for a purpose, for us or himself, that would be fine by me. If it was for vengence that would finally make him comfortable with himself again, if it was for him making peace with his past, I would be the first one to fire him up. But after he kicked Hunter's ass, after he beat the hell out of Batista, he didn't look more balanced to me, or happier or satisfied. He seemed-"  
"Miserable," Cody said, remembering their friend's face that first fateful night. "Miserable and confused. He tried to hide it but it was clearly there." The youngest Legacy member sighed in frustration. "We could have seen it. We could have said something."

Ted shook his head.  
"Whatever it is that bothers him, he wouldn't have said anything. You know how he is. He doesn't want to share is problems. He tries to be strong on his own."  
"He should know by now that he isn't alone and that he doesn't have to deal with problems on his own," Cody said, angry, sad and desperate. They had gone through so much together, had helped each other numerous times in- and outside of the ring, they had shared victories and losses and it had always been good because they had been a team. Because they had been together.  
"We are here, why doesn't he trust us?"  
Ted nodded emphatically, as if something had suddenly hit him.  
"Yes, that's the thing: I think he does trust us. He always did. He knew we would always have his back and we had. So why all this secrecy all of the sudden? I think something happened, maybe in the fight with Hunter, maybe earlier, I can't say. But I am sure that there is something that he is hiding from us."  
Cody sighed heavily and let his head hang low.  
"If he doesn't want to talk to us, then there is nothing we can do. You just said it yourself: His pride won't let him seek out help."  
"I think there is more to it than his pride. I cannot put my finger on it but something is very wrong. We cannot let him go on like this, Cody. Together we were always able to fend off any attacks from our enemies. But he's all alone now. If he goes on like this, he'll have the whole locker room on his heels in no time. And I don't want to imagine what his ex-stable mates will do to Randy if they ever get their hands on him."  
"When, Ted," Cody said, worry deeply edged into his face. "When they get their hands on him."

There was silence again for a few seconds.  
"He won't talk to us and he won't accept our help," Cody said.  
"Then we have to make sure that he's safe without him knowing," Ted said, determination back in his voice. "He said he didn't want us around anymore but I'm not stupid and I don't believe him. I know he trusts us. The longer I think about it, the more I think that what he said to us back at the hotel was one if his stupid ideas to get us out of harm's way."  
Cody understood.  
"Yes, as long as the three of us stick together, Randy's opponents will always try to target us, too."  
"And Randy wouldn't have that," Ted said. "Batista knew that Randy would come for us if he tried to attack us. He used that fact to get to Randy. And Randy knows that the only way for us to lose the big red target mark on our foreheads is to break with us."  
"But that means that he puts himself in great danger. You said it: He is all alone with no one to help or watch his back. Sooner or later they will get him - Triple H, Flair, Batista, Ziggler and all the others -. Ran must know that he can't possibly survive such an onslaught."  
"I know but he is past the point of caring. The last decision he made while being at least partially sane was to get us out of harm's way. That madness tonight? That wasn't Randy. Whatever is happening to him, we need to find out."  
Ted took a deep breath and sighed. "I just don't know how we gonna do that."

"Cena."  
Cody had said it without thinking much because after everything that had happened it seemed the only possibility. Ted, however, did not follow him there. He looked at him like he had escaped some psychiatric ward.  
"Codes, not again!" he said. "I mean, why on earth do you think that Cena - Good Guy Rise Above Hate And Never Give Up Cena of all people - could help us with getting Randy back? And why would he want to anyway?"  
"You just said it: He is above hate and he never gives up. If he can back up his rhetoric he's exactly who we need," Cody said, his voice louder now and more determined. "Look, you saw him too when Ran attacked Batista. Everyone else would have tried to take Randy down then and there, not caring if he got hurt in the process. Let's face it, we're not exactly everybody's darlings and if Randy had been injured that day, half the locker room would have applauded Cena for his efforts."  
"Make that two thirds," Ted said with a humorless smile on his face. "Your point being?"  
Cody sighed.  
"Cena did not attack Randy. He tried to talk to him, to make him see sense. I think he genuinely cares."  
"For Randy? I highly doubt that."  
"I know that sounds weird but maybe Cena cares because he knows more than we do," Cody went on. "It only occurred to me now but do you remember what he said to Randy?"  
Ted shook his head.  
"He called him by his first name and when Randy didn't react he tried 'Viper'," Cody explained. "Ran did react to that."

Yes, Ted thought, Ran had reacted.  
"With a hiss."  
Cody nodded.  
"'Viper'! Did Randy ever mention that to you?"  
Ted shook his head.  
"See? I don't know why Cena knows more than we do and I don't know why he seems so concerned but frankly, I don't care as long as it means that he can help us. We need to talk to him. He may be the only chance we have to get Randy back."

They both looked over to the screen where "My Time Is Now" sounded over the speakers and John had entered the arena, his expression unusually stern.

...


End file.
